Have You Checked the Children?
by AllShallFade777
Summary: Sam and Dean are investigating the mysterious disappearances of three kids from a neighborhood in Midtown, Maryland. Who, or more likely what, is taking them, and why? The stakes are raised and danger heightens as Sam and Dean race to figure out what's happening to the children and prevent more from going missing.
1. Chapter 1

**Just so's ya know: Sam and Dean are not my characters, I'm just borrowing them for this story. Names and locations are chosen at random; any connection they have to actual people are entirely coincidental. The views expressed by characters in the story are not necessarily the views of the author. Also: cuss words are blanked out a bit, though some minor profanities may have slipped past my censoring radar.  
**

* * *

It was dark. The room was quiet. Outside, frogs croaked and insects chirped, but their melancholy chorus did not reach through the window.

Something else did.

The butterfly curtains fluttered as though coming alive, but what caused them to stir was far from living.

Melissa huddled under her blankets. She knew what was coming. She could feel it like ice creeping into her body, even as _he_ crept into the room, melting through the closed window, soundless as snowfall.

A figure darker than the night and shifting like shadow slipped into the room. It was the third night he had come, but it would be the last. Tonight, he would take what he had come for.

Melissa felt the hand pull back her blankets. Her scream was lost before it ever touched the silence, and her eyes rolled back and closed as she tumbled into spinning black nothingness.

000000

The motel door banged shut and Sam jumped. He had been so focused on his computer that he hadn't heard the familiar roar of the Impala pulling up outside, or the jingle of keys as Dean opened the door. Sam watched as his brother sauntered over, a greasy paper bag in his hand and a huge grin on his face.

"You'll never guess what I found for breakfast," Dean said, plopping the bag down on the table next to Sam's computer.

Sam eyed the bag distastefully. "Something bacon-filled or bacon-wrapped and dripping heart-attack, going by the grease seeping out of it," he said dryly.

"That, my brother, is a pork sausage smothered in three different kinds of cheese, covered in bacon and stuffed inside a deep-fried pretzel log. The place I got it, they call it a breakfast torpedo. I call it a masterpiece." Dean sank into the only other chair at the small table, fished out the aluminum-foiled food and unwrapped it.

"Wow," Sam said. "My arteries are clogging just looking at it."  
"Aw, that's just jealousy talking," Dean said, taking a huge bite. This thing was more than a masterpiece. It was legendary.

Around the mouthful, he mumbled, "Don't worry, I got you one too."

"Yeah, you mean you got a second one so you could have it when I didn't want it," Sam replied.

Dean swallowed and grinned, saying, "You know me so well," before digging back in. Mouth full, he asked, "So did you find anything about that missing girl?"

The words came out nearly unintelligible. Luckily Sam had become quite adept over the years at deciphering 'Dean-talking-with-mouth-full' speech, and he understood. Dean was referring to the girl mentioned in the newspaper they had picked up earlier that morning, suspecting it might be a possible case.

The Winchesters had just been passing through town, waiting for the road to lead them to a new job as it always did, when a quick stop at a gas station in Middletown, Maryland had convinced them to hang around awhile longer.

The bold letters of the word 'MISSING' on the margin of a newspaper's front page had caught Sam's attention on his way to the register. He grabbed a copy and skimmed the article. _Another child reported missing… Seven year old Melissa Davis vanished from her bedroom without a trace…third child to go missing in the last few days…police have found no evidence of foul play in any of the cases…._

It was enough; Sam bought the paper.

And so here they were, in another crappy motel room, Sam nose-deep in online reports, Dean nose-deep in fast food.

Shaking his head at his brother's barbaric eating habits, Sam carefully slid his laptop well out of range of the cheese oozing from the pretzel log."It's not just the one girl who's gone missing. And yeah, it sounds like our kinda job."

Dean raised his eyebrows in question, too busy eating for words.

Sam took the meaning and elaborated. "Including the girl mentioned in the paper, three kids have disappeared from Middletown in the past week. According to this article they were taken sometime during the night, right out of their bedrooms. Now this other report I found says the police aren't even willing to call them kidnappings yet because there's no evidence of breaking and entering; they think they're looking for runaways. But whatever's going on here, three kids are missing, all around the same age, all from security enabled homes, all gone with no trace whatsoever. It's not much, but I think it's worth checking out."

Dean balled up the empty aluminum foil and nodded. "Alright, so what're we thinking? Changeling? Shtriga?"

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Well, if it's a changeling, then it's kind of forgetting the whole 'taking the kid's place' part. And a shtriga wouldn't take the kids. It'd just feed off them right there and leave."

Dean tossed the ball into the trash bin. "So what you're saying is we have no idea what could've taken the kids, assuming something did take them, or what it might've done with 'em, or what it might be doing to them right now, so there's no time to waste sitting around eating breakfast torpedoes."

"Yeah, that about sums it up."

With a regretful sigh, Dean pushed his chair away from the table, leaving the uneaten deep-fried legend untouched in the bag.

00000000

"Well that was a waste of time," Dean said. He and Sam were walking out of the sheriff's department all decked out in their 'fed threads,' having just finished talking to the local sheriff.

As usual, Dean had wanted to skip the formalities and go straight to questioning the families, but Sam, being the rule-abiding FBI impersonator that he was, had insisted they check in with the local authorities first. Going around asking questions as federal agents without the cops even knowing they were here would look pretty suspicious. Besides, Sam figured they might have more information on the missing kids.

But the didn't. Besides learning the sheriff's name (Sheriff Emily Reid) and that she thought it was a terrible shame what was going on, the police hadn't been much help. Like the report said, the cops thought they were dealing with a bunch of runaways, despite the fact that a over a week had passed since the first disappearance and there was still no sign of the children.

As they headed back to the Impala, Sam glanced through one of the files Sheriff Reid had given him. It was all the information they had on the first disappearance, a measly two pages: a report from the officers investigating the incident and a statement from the child's parents. But why would there be any more information? As far as the cops were concerned, no crime had been committed, and these kids would turn up when they got tired of their little game.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean said as they got into the car. "Maybe this isn't our thing. The cops seem pretty convinced nothing strange's going on." He started the engine and cranked up the air conditioning. It was already freakishly hot out, and the cheap suit wasn't helping.

"Yeah, I guess…" Sam said, but trailed off, distracted by what he was reading. "Huh," he said, finding something interesting.

"What?" Dean asked. Sam didn't answer, too absorbed in another file. Dean groaned. "Come on, man, it's freakin' hot as hell out. Are we ditching these sweat suits or what?"

"You tell me," Sam said. He handed Dean one of the files, the one for Clark Garner, the second kid to go missing. Sam pointed to a section of Mrs. Garner's statement. "Read that. It sounds like there's more going on here than anyone's willing to admit."

Dean wasn't in the mood to read anything. As far as he was concerned, this case was a bust. He was already looking forward to cruising out of this town, windows rolled down with the radio turned up. Anyway, reading junk was generally Sammy's thing, nerd that he was.

But even though he was pretty sure his brother was grasping at straws to avoid admitting he was wrong, Dean looked at the report anyway.

 _'_ _I put Clark to bed like I always do,'_ the file said. _'There was nothing out of the ordinary. He asked to stay up longer, there was something he wanted to watch on TV.'_ Dean was already bored. He skipped ahead. That's when he saw what had gotten Sam's attention. _'Clark hadn't been sleeping well lately. He said he was scared of something in his room, something that came through the window while he was trying to sleep'_

Dean sat up straighter. Something was coming into the boy's room at night? "Alright, that's definitely weird," he admitted. "But how do we know it wasn't just this kid's imagination? Is there anything like this in the other reports?"

"Not for Victor Burke, the first boy to go missing, but Melissa Davis's mom mentioned that Melissa had started having nightmares two days before she disappeared. If there really is something supernatural going on, I'll bet Victor's parents have a similar story that they didn't think to mention to the police." Sam took back the file and gave his brother a 'come-on-we-should-at-least-check-this-out' look.

Dean sighed loudly. "Fine. But if this turns out to be a wild goose chase, you owe me a breakfast torpedo."

"You seriously want another one of those things?" Sam said, then sighed. "Alright, but it's your funeral."

Dean grinned and put the car in drive. "Now where's this Victor kid live?"

0000000000

The Burke house was on the edge of the suburbs and was exactly the kind of house you'd expect to see there: two story, brick and white siding, two-car garage, yard neatly kept up to Homeowner's Association standards. A strip of lawn on either side separated it from the neighboring houses, which were built in roughly the same style.

This was the kind of neighborhood where everybody sees everything, Sam thought as they pulled up to the curb. You probably couldn't leave the light on in your kitchen at night without some neighbor noticing. So how did a seven year old just disappear without someone seeing something, especially with all the porch lights and street lamps around?

Hopefully they were about to find out.

The brothers climbed the three steps to the front door. Sam rang the doorbell while Dean pulled irritably at his shirt collar, wishing feds didn't have to be so dxxn well-dressed all the time.

Footsteps pounded inside the house and the door was flung open. A woman in her early thirties peered anxiously out, her dark hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and mascara smudged under her red-rimmed blue eyes. For a moment, hope flared in those eyes, only to die out as she realized that it wasn't her child waiting at the door.

Sam couldn't help but feel guilty; this woman had probably been desperate to hear the doorbell ring, and instead of her little boy finally returning home she found two agents waiting to tell her they had no idea where her son was.

"Mrs. Burke?" Sam asked.

"Yes?" she said, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of her t-shirt.

The 'agents' held up their badges.

"I'm Agent Stark, this is Agent Colson," Dean said (Sure, the names might be more easily recognized than the members of a rock band, but Dean thought it was totally worth it. Because come on; Iron Man was _awesome_.) "We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay."

Mrs. Burke's eyes darted between them. "I already talked to the police. What's this about?"

"Nothing to worry about," Sam assured her. "We're just looking for a little more information on what happened the night Victor went missing."

"You know, details that might help us find your son," Dean added.

Those were the magic words. "Of course. Please come in." Mrs. Burke stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

She showed them to the living room and gestured for them to take a seat on the couch while she dropped into an armchair. Sam glanced around the room, noting the various family photos. His eyes landed on a framed picture of a seven year old riding a pony. He recognized Victor from the picture in the boy's file.

Mrs. Burke followed Sam's gaze and smiled sadly. "One of Victor's friends had pony rides at their birthday party," she said. "Victor was so excited. He loves animals. That was just a few weeks before he… before…" Mrs. Burke covered her mouth, too emotional to continue.

"Mrs. Burke, we're going to do everything we can to find Victor and bring him home safely," Sam said gently, trying to reassure her. Under less serious circumstances, Dean would've had to stop himself from gagging. It wasn't that he was unsympathetic; he wanted to get these kids back to their families just as much as his brother. But Sam could be so sappy sometimes, it really was a little nauseating.

The distraught mother sniffed and wiped her eyes. "It's just been so hard, especially with the other kids going missing too. Clark and Melissa are friends of Victor's; they've spent so much time over here I feel like they're practically mine."

"Victor is friends with the other vic—uh, kids who went missing?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Clark Garner, Melissa Davis, Daniel Russell, Caitlin Jacobs, and a few others. They're quite the little bunch of troublemakers. I think that's partly why the police think they ran away, like the three of them made some plan to run off together."

"I hate to ask, but you don't think that's what could've happened?" Sam said.

"Of course not," Mrs. Burke said. "Victor would never just take off like that. I mean, it's possible the other two did, but not my son. Someone _took_ him. I know it."

"We believe you," Sam quickly assured her. "That's why we're here. Now if there's anything you can tell us about the night Victor was kidnapped, it would help us find him faster."

She crossed her arms. "Like what? I already told the police everything."

"Think back," Dean said. "Was there anything strange about that night? Anything weird, maybe otherworldly, or, I don't know, supernatural?"

Mrs. Burke stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

Sam shot his brother a look. "What he means is, did you notice anything unusual when you put Victor to bed? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No," Mrs. Burke said, shaking her head. "I mean, there was something, but nothing that could possibly have anything to do with…"

Sam leaned forward. "Anything you can tell us would help. No matter how unrelated it may seem."

"Well, it was just…Victor didn't want to go to bed. He begged me to let him stay up longer, and when I told him no, he ran to my bedroom and insisted that he sleep in my bed. I told him he was too old for that, but he wouldn't listen. I practically had to drag him to bed. If I'd known what was going to happen, I never would've…"

She broke off, trying to compose herself.

"I take it that wasn't normal for him," Dean said.

Mrs. Burke shook her head. "He outgrew the monster under his bed when he was four," she said with a tearful smile. "Until about a week before he went missing, he was this brave little boy, not scared of anything. Then out of the blue he started having nightmares, saying there was something in his room that wanted to hurt him. He was afraid to go to sleep at night."

"This thing, did he say what it looked like?" Dean pressed.

Mrs. Burke looked puzzled. "He said it was a 'shadow person,' I think, too dark to see its face."

"Just one more question, Mrs. Burke," Sam said. "Did Victor happen to say how the thing got into the room?"

"Um, yes. He said it came through the window every night once I left his room."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"But what does that have to do with anything?" Mrs. Burke said. "Why are you asking me these questions? You don't actually think-"

"Of course not, ma'am." Dean said quickly, giving her a convincing grin. "We just like to be thorough. You never know what might turn out to help the investigation."

Mrs. Burke didn't look convinced, but she didn't say anything.

Hoping to escape from her suspicious gaze, Sam said, "Do you mind if we take a look at Victor's room?"

"Oh. No, not at all," she said, surprised by the sudden change in subject. "It's just down the hall."

Mrs. Burke led them to Victor's bedroom and excused herself to make a phone call. Sam had a feeling she didn't want to face her son's empty room. This worked for them though, as it would have been hard to explain why the FBI was using electromagnetic frequency readers.

After double-checking that Mrs. Burke had left, Sam nodded to Dean, who pulled out an EMF reader and began walking around the room. At first, the device was silent except for a few blips of feedback, but as Dean neared the window, it went wild.

"Looks like you were right about this one after all, Sammy," Dean said as he bent to examine the window.

"No need to sound so surprised," Sam muttered. He was busy looking over the rest of the room. As far as he could tell, there was nothing strange or out of place to suggest what had taken Victor. Animal posters covered the walls, toys spilled out of the closet, plastic dinosaurs rode the dresser. Nothing weird at all.

Then he noticed the drawing on the kid's activity table. Among several doodles of elephants was a picture so black Sam wasn't sure at first what he was looking at. Then the frenzied lines took shape. The result was chilling: a human figure, darker than demon eyes, looming in scribbled black shadows. The drawing stood out from the others like a mourner at a parade.

Sam was starting to get a pretty good idea of what they were hunting. He was about to show Dean the picture when his brother called him over.

"Hey Sam, check this out."

Something dark and slick was smeared on the wall underneath the windowsill. Dean poked at it and grimaced as the slimy stuff clung to his finger. Ectoplasm. There wasn't much of it there, but it was enough to confirm Sam's suspicion.

Dean looked up at Sam over his shoulder and voiced what both of them were thinking. "Looks like we've got a ghost on our hands."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Next one's coming soon. All questions, comments, and constructive criticism are extremely welcome. (It also inspires me to write faster, so...hint hint ;)**


	2. The Man in the Corner

**Note: same as foreward from last chapter. As far as I know, the website mentioned in this chapter doesn't exist. If it does, total coincidence. Also, I had to actually spell out 'dot com.' As I'm sure it will be just as annoying to read as it was to write, my apologies.**

 **P.S. I feel I should mention: I have yet to see every episode of Supernatural, and my memory ain't all too perfect, so anything that seems like you've seen it before...my bad. Total accident.**

* * *

"What kind of ghost kidnaps children?" Sam asked as they headed back to the car.

Dean frowned, thinking. "Psycho nanny?" he suggested.

"Dude, seriously."

"Hey, it could happen." They stood by the Impala and looked back at the Burke house.

"Look man," Dean said, "I've got no clue. There's a lot of things about this ghost that just don't make sense."

"You're telling me," Sam said. "It's got to be a pretty powerful spirit to make three kids just vanish like that. And why's it even taking them in the first place?"

"Yeah, and is it just me, or does this thing have a hit list? I mean I guess it _could_ be a coincidence that the three victims just happened to be friends, but that never happens, so Russell and Catherine are probably next."

"Caitlin and Daniel," Sam corrected him.

"Yeah, them," Dean said. "I say we find this thing and plug its axx with rock salt before it gets to them."

"Don't you think we should try to figure out what we're dealing with first? There's still three other kids missing, and until we know who this spirit is we've got no way of knowing where it's taking them."

Dean hesitated uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I hate to say it, but it's pretty likely those kids are already past saving. Last time I checked, ghosts don't keep hostages, and why else would it keep coming back for more?"

"We can't just assume they're dead, Dean," Sam said adamantly. "Until bodies start turning up, there's still a chance those kids are alive somewhere. We're not giving up on them."

"Yeah, I know. I just prefer the 'shoot first, research later," method."

"Well, we still have two other houses to check out first."

Making house calls and doing research, Dean thought sullenly as they got into the Impala. Sounded like they had a thrilling day ahead of them.

000000

It wasn't until the sun was starting to set on the sweltering day that the Winchesters finally returned to the motel. They'd been held up for longer than necessary at the Davis house, stuck listening to Melissa's father rant about government incompetence.

The visit had hardly been worth it; it did little more than tell them what they already knew. Both Clark Garner's and Melissa Davis's parents had similar stories to Mrs. Burke's: the kids were having nightmares and seeing a shadowy figure in their room. The only difference was the timeline. Mrs. Burke said it started a week before Victor went missing; for Clark, the second victim, it had been about three days, for Melissa, two. There had also been more ectoplasm and stronger EMF readings. As near as the hunters could figure, the spirit was becoming more powerful with every kidnapping.

But besides this, they had learned nothing. Night was approaching and it was likely another child would be taken, and they were still no closer to finding the others.

They were both on edge, and as usual, they were taking it out on each other.

Sam tensed as the tennis ball thumped against the wall for the hundredth time. It rebounded back to the bed, where Dean caught it one-handed.

"Do you mind?" Sam snapped.

"No, not at all." Dean threw the ball again.

Sam sighed in irritation and ran his hands through his hair. Besides Dean being…well, Dean, his computer was running slow, taking the online equivalent of an eternity to load each new page. He'd been staring down the screen for over an hour and had so far found good old jack squat. The Wi-Fi was just as crappy as the rest of the motel.

Dean had quickly gotten bored, hence the tennis ball, which he'd pulled off one of the motel chair legs (they were meant to keep the chairs from scratching up the floor; the motel owner was one stingy bxxxxxd, Dean thought).

He'd been throwing it constantly since, and it was starting to grate on Sam's nerves. Apparently, he wasn't the only one.

"Hey, knock it off in there!" A voice shouted through the wall as the ball smacked into it yet again.

"Yeah, why don't you make me?" Dean yelled back.

Sam shot him a look. "Dean!"

Dean just grinned and shook his head. "Relax, he's not gonna-"

A door slammed and heavy footsteps pounded outside.

Dean's eyes widened. "Oh. I guess he is."

The door rattled as something extremely large beat against it. Sam leapt up from the table while Dean scrambled off the bed. Thinking fast, Dean said "catch," and tossed the ball to his brother.

Sam caught it reflexively just as the door banged open. A huge burly gorilla of a man filled the doorway, breathing hard as he surveyed the room, face red and pit stains showing through his tank top.

Sam looked from the hulking man to the ball in his hand, realized the danger, and quickly threw it over his shoulder.

The hulk looked at them.

"It was him," Sam and Dean said in unison, pointing to each other.

The man glared at them both. If looks could kill, Dean thought.

The man just stood there, and for a moment it seemed he was going to keep standing there like an angry mountain. Then he lumbered into the room, picked up a chair, and snapped the wooden thing in half.

"I make myself clear?" he rumbled.

The Winchesters nodded vigorously.

With a last menacing look at the two of them, the man thundered out, slamming the door behind him.

Dean let out a relieved breath. "Well that was close," he said, grin returning only to vanish as he caught Sam's murderous look. "Uh, hey look, your page loaded."

"Oh, wow, look at that," Sam said sarcastically, then shouted, "What the hell, man?!"

"What?" Dean said defensively. "I figured you could hold him off while I went for my gun."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what you were thinking," Sam snorted.

"Oh come on, it's not like you couldn't have taken him. He's not half as bad as some of the things we've hunted. Besides," Dean added. "Sasquatch versus Ape Man; would've been the showdown of the century!"

Sam stared daggers. In fact, he was tempted to start throwing a few. "You know, you can be so-"

"Awesome, I know," Dean said, leaning over the computer as though suddenly finding it fascinating. "Come on, Sammy, we've got kids to save."

"Oh yeah, _now_ we've got kids to save, now that you're done pissing off the neighbors," Sam muttered. But Dean had a point, so he let it go. For now.

"Hey, what is this, anyway?" Dean asked. "I thought you were looking up the recently croaked."

"I was," Sam said, sinking moodily back into his chair (now the _only_ chair). "I wasn't getting anything, but this site came up under one of the searches. It's a forum for local urban legends and ghost stories, and one of them sounds a little too similar to what's been going on to be a coincidence."

Dean read the title. "' _The Man in the Corner'_? Isn't that some Michael Jackson song?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, Dean, it's not some Michael Jackson song. Will you quit messing around and just read it already?"

"How do we know this isn't just some load of crap story?" Dean asked, not yet willing to commit to reading all those words. "What is this website, anyway?"

"I already told you, the locals use it to post urban legends, stories of the supernatural, things like that. It's called 'ghost-itmaryland dot com.'"

Dean cracked up. "Dude, you totally just said 'ghost tit.'"

Sam glared at him. "Just read it," he said, trying not to punch his brother.

Taking the warning in Sam's tone, Dean stopped laughing and read.

 _The Man in the Corner_

 _"_ _There's a man who stands in the corner of my room._

 _Every night after mommy and daddy put me to bed, he comes through the window to watch me from the darkness._

 _The first night the man came, I screamed for daddy, but when he turned the lights on, the man disappeared. Daddy told me there was nothing to be afraid of. He didn't believe me about the man. He thought I was just scared of the dark. So he plugged in my nightlight and kissed me on the head, and then he went back to bed._

 _But the man came back. He hid from daddy, but when daddy left, the man came out again. He was still in the corner, where the nightlight didn't reach. It was too dark to see his face, but I knew he was watching me._

 _I pulled the covers up to my mouth. "Go away," I whispered to the man._

 _He just kept staring at me. I started to tremble. Then he lifted a dark finger to his shadowy lips. "Ssshh," he said, and my nightlight flickered out._

 _I squealed and threw my blanket over my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the man to rip the covers away and grab me and drag me away to the place where monsters come from. I knew he was going to throw me in a cage and keep me there until he got hungry, and then he would put me in a big bubbling pot and cook me alive and eat me and crunch on my bones until there was nothing left and mommy and daddy would never know what happened to me._

 _But he didn't. I listened hard, but all I heard was the soft ticking of the clock. There was no snarling or gurgling or any other monster noises. There wasn't even a breath._

 _I slowly pulled back my blanket and peeked into the darkness. The man was still there, standing in the corner, blacker than the blackness around him. I gasped and ducked back under the blanket. For the rest of the night I lay there, shaking and crying, feeling the man's eyes on me and wondering when he would attack._

 _Then I was waking up and sunlight was streaming through the window and he was gone._

 _But every night, he comes back, slipping silently through the window after mommy and daddy leave, and vanishing before I wake up._

 _I've tried to keep him out. Before bed, I make sure daddy locks the window, but it doesn't stop the man. He gets in anyway, and the window is always still locked in the morning. I leave the lights on so he has nowhere to hide, but they go out when he comes. He brings the darkness with him. I never see his face except in nightmares._

 _Each night the man moves a little bit closer to my bed. Last night, he stood right beside me, so close I could feel the cold coming off of him. It felt like he was made of ice, and I shivered until I fell asleep._

 _He'll be back tonight. It will be different this time, I know it. He's going to do something to me. The man is going to hurt me. I can't stop him, and even if mommy and daddy believed me about him, they wouldn't be able to help me. The man is coming for me, and there's nothing I can do. The man is coming for me._

 _The man is coming. "_

"This definitely sounds like our guy," Dean said when he reached the end of the story. "But how does…ghoulgirl17 know about him?"

"I already looked into it," Sam said. "Ghoulgirl17 is really Amber Jacobs, Caitlin Jacobs's older sister."

"Caitlin Jacobs. She's one of the kids Mrs. Burke mentioned, right?"

"Yeah."

Dean straightened, looking thoughtful. "So Amber probably heard about this thing from Caitlin. Which means Caitlin's seen it and she's next on the list."

"Looks like it."

Dean glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "Alright, we're gonna have to hurry if we're gonna beat this thing to Caitlin."

"What are we going to do, just show up with shotguns and say 'hey, Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs, mind if we lay in wait for a ghost in your daughter's room'?"

"Well, we could try that, but I was just gonna stake the place out."

"Oh." Sam held back for a moment, actually a little surprised, before following Dean out to the Impala. "I guess I just assumed you'd want to go in kicking down doors, guns blazing, maybe traumatize the family while you're at it."

"Come on, I'm not _that_ impulsive."

"Says the guy who just picked a fight over a tennis ball."

Dean frowned. "Touché."

They got in the car and headed for the Jacobs house.

0000000

Thick clouds rolled low across the sky, erasing as they came what little light was cast by the moon. A cool wind kicked up; thunder rumbled. A storm was coming.

 _Great_ , Dean thought, swatting a cluster of leaves out of his face. "Remind me again why I'm the one lurking in the hydrangeas while you're kicking back in _my_ car?" he said into his cell phone.

"Uh, because you almost got me pummeled by the ape man?" Sam's voice came back.

Lightning flashed. Dean ducked reflexively, scanning the sky. "You know we're even after this, right?"

He could practically hear Sam's smirk as he answered. "No, I don't think so, but from the looks of those clouds we're about to be."

Not ten seconds later, the skies opened up and sheets of cold rain came pouring down.

"Friggin' perfect," Dean grumbled, spluttering rain.

Sam was laughing on the other end of the line. " _Now_ we're even."

Dean shook his head like a wet dog trying to get dry. "You know what, Sam?" he said. "You suck. This rain is freakin' freezing."

"Well, you know what they say, Dean, revenge is a dish best served-"

"Just watch the house," Dean growled. He hung up, Sam's laughter the last thing he heard before the call ended.

Muttering angrily, Dean dropped the cell phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. Hopefully it would protect it from the rain, but he doubted it, as he was quickly becoming soaked. Comforting himself with the thought that, even or not, Sam would owe him a new phone, Dean turned his attention to the house.

From his place in the bushes, Dean had a complete view of the yard and the back of the house. He scanned the windows and around the fence, but he didn't know how he was supposed to see this thing when it came. According to what they'd heard, they were looking for something darker than darkness. A shadow in the night, and a stormy night, no less.

Sam, who was parked in the Impala keeping an eye on the front of the house, would at least have the advantage of the porch light and all the street lamps. All Dean had was the one little light over the back door.

Oh, and the lightning, of course. Couldn't forget about the lightning.

Dean's hand wandered to the handle of the sawed-off shotgun tucked inside his jacket. It was loaded with rock salt and ready to go, and he was itching to unload it on this kid-snatching son of a bxxxh. He was just hoping the dxxn thing showed up; no way was he squatting in the mud getting poured on for nothing.

The minutes dragged by, slow and wet and miserable. Lights came on periodically in various rooms, only to be turned out after a while. Eventually, the last light was turned off and the whole house was dark.

Dean straightened up. Everyone was asleep; the ghost would be here soon.

No sooner had he thought this than a shadow appeared, creeping along the fence.

Raising the shotgun, Dean waited, watching the thing sneak up to the house. It scratched at the door with razor claws, opened a horribly fanged mouth, and let out a bloodthirsty cry:

"Meow."

 _You've got to be kidding._ Dean lowered the gun and pulled out a flashlight. The beam reflected off the eerie, slit-pupil green eyes of a cat. It hissed and took off back into the rain.

 _Stupid cat_ , Dean thought. He pocketed the flashlight and sullenly settled back into the bushes.

It was still raining, though it had started to let up, so he took out his phone, planning to call Sam and suggest switching places. He punched in the number and glanced around the yard, waiting for his brother to pick up.

That's when the rain went frigid. Dean had long since gotten used to the cold, but suddenly he couldn't stop shivering. His breath clouded hazily in front of him.

The light over the door caught his eye as it started to flicker like a dying firefly until, with a final flare, it went out. In its wake came darkness. Darkness, and something else.

Someone was standing in the middle of the yard.

"Okay, that is definitely not a cat," Dean muttered, and then, "come on, Sam, pick up."

He watched the figure. The spirit seemed to be facing the darkened house, just looking at it, a shadow regarding another shadow. There was something strange about the ghost, Dean thought-well, besides the fact that it was a ghost: it was short, barely more than half Dean's height. Like a child.

Just then, Sam answered the phone. "Dean."

"Sam, it's here," Dean whispered urgently. He held the gun ready in one hand and started creeping out of the bushes. "It's in the back yard."

"What?"

"I said it's in the back yard." Silently as possible, he kept moving towards the ghost. He would only need one shot to scare this thing off, but he wanted to make it a good one; otherwise, the spirit could still do some damage. He needed to slow this thing down long enough for people to show up and lights to be turned on. Then Caitlin Jacobs would be safe for one more night.

"Dean, I can't…you're breaking up…"

The figure cocked its head as though listening to something. Dean was about to hang up—he could handle this without Sam, and it'd be easier to aim with both hands free.

Then the spirit vanished.

Dean cursed. It must've beamed its way up to Caitlin—no, it was over by the side of the house, slipping around the corner. It was headed towards the front.

"Sam, it's coming around the front," he said, quickly following the ghost.

"What…"

"It's coming toward you!" Dean looked at the phone: 'No Signal' blinked on the screen.

"Dxxn it." Thunder rumbled as he slipped the phone back into his pocket and picked up the pace.

00000

Sam watched the house through the rain-streaked window. The storm roared outside, drumming against the roof of the Impala with rainy fingers. In a few minutes, Sam would call Dean so they could switch places and his brother could get out of the weather.

But not just yet; he wanted to savor the payback for just a little bit longer.

Since Dean had hung up earlier, things had been pretty quiet. Except for the porch light, the house was dark. At one point a cat had come streaking out from behind the house. It darted beneath several street lamps before vanishing into the night. Besides that and the storm, the night was still.

Most people would have been bored out of their minds by now, but not Sam. Having traveled all over the country with his brother, he was used to long hours in the car with nothing but the passing scenery and Dean's idea of good music for entertainment. This was hardly any different.

Sometimes it was nice to just sit and think and enjoy not having something trying to strangle you or eviscerate you or drink your blood. In the life of a hunter, there was rarely a dull moment, but when they came they were a welcome relief.

Sam blinked and sat up. He could've sworn he saw…the porch light sputtered again. Up and down the street, the same was happening to the lamps. They dimmed and flared until, all at once, they died.

Apparently the dull moment was over.

Sam reached for the gun lying on the seat beside him. The afterimages of the porch and street lights burned in his vision, making it seem like bright white orbs were dancing on the front lawn. He rubbed his eyes until they faded, then looked back at the house.

Nothing but darkness. The rain pattered on the roof, drumming away the silence.

Sam's phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket but paused before answering. In the feeble blue glow cast by the screen he could see his breath fogging in the air. He quickly glanced back at the house. Still nothing, but it didn't matter; he knew the ghost was here.

"Dean," he said into the phone.

"Sam…here." Dean's voice came out broken by a bad connection, but Sam could still hear the urgency in it. "It's in… -ard."

"What?"

"… the back..."

Sam got the message. He grabbed the shotgun and got out of the car. "Dean, I can't hear you, you're breaking up."

There was no reply for several seconds, but Sam thought he caught the end of a curse. He crossed the street and started to cut across the Jacobs's front lawn, heading for the backyard.

"It's…ound the fr…" Dean's voice broke through.

Sam pulled up, not sure where to go with that one. "What?"

"…coming toward you!"

The phone beeped as the signal was lost.

"Dxxn it," Sam said. He stuffed the phone away and lifted the gun. He faced the darkness and waited, shivering in the rain.

Then lightning flashed and he saw it. Standing in the middle of the yard just a few feet away, blacker than crow feathers, a void the lightning had no power to penetrate.

In the split second of stark illumination, Sam noticed two things: first, the figure was short, about the height of a child. And second:

It was looking right at him.

Sam didn't hesitate. He took aim and fired.

Even in the darkness he could tell he'd hit it. The rock salt tore through the ghost and it scattered like smoke in the wind.

The shot was nearly deafening. There was no way anyone could mistake that for thunder, Sam thought, and sure enough, lights started turning on up and down the block. Time to get the heck out of here.

Dean appeared around the corner just as Sam was lowering the gun. Several windows in the Jacobs house were now glowing, and by their light Sam could see that his brother was dripping wet and splattered in mud.

"Did you get it?" Dean called through the rain.

Slicking his wet hair back from his face, Sam nodded. "Yeah. It's gone."

Dean frowned, obviously disappointed he hadn't gotten to shoot anything, but his expression quickly turned to alarm and he shouted,"Sam!"

Sam whipped around just in time to see the ghost standing behind him before an invisible force slammed into him with the strength of a speeding freight train and sent him flying back.

He landed hard, the shotgun knocked from his hands and the breath knocked from his lungs. For a moment all he could do was lay there, gasping uselessly and watching stars swim before his eyes.

The spirit appeared over him. It kneeled on his chest, the contact like a block of ice being set on him. As Sam watched, the shadows peeled back from the ghost's face to reveal a boy, raven-haired, blue-eyed, and pale as death, peering down at him.

Sam heard Dean shout something. The ghost boy's gaze flicked upward long enough to send the older Winchester sprawling before returning to Sam. Eyes piercingly lusterless, the spirit covered Sam's mouth with an icy hand and lifted a finger to its lips in an unmistakable gesture:

 _Ssshh._

And every house went dark.


	3. Into the Woods (not like the musical)

Sam's eyes widened, partially from lack of air and partially in amazement. How had a single spirit blacked out an entire row of houses? The boy hovering over him looked no different from any other ghost Sam had faced, but somehow it'd managed to rematerialize almost immediately after taking a round of rock salt and kill half a neighborhood's worth of lights.

Clearly this was no ordinary ghost.

The boy stared at Sam, its hand still clamped over his mouth, frozen weight constricting his lungs.

 _That's funny_ , Sam thought light-headedly. _A ghost with weight._ He was on the verge of passing out when the thing vanished. The crushing force went with it and Sam could breathe again. He curled up on the ground, coughing and shivering uncontrollably.

Then Dean was there, shaking him, pulling him to his feet. "Sam! Sam, you okay?"

Sam steadied himself with one hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to catch his breath. "Yeah, I'm good," he finally managed, chest heaving. "Where'd it go?"

"I don't know," Dean said. He handed back Sam's shotgun and glanced toward the house. "I don't know what the hxll's going on here, man, this thing must be on steroids or something. I thought I got hit by a freakin' bus when it threw me down."

"Did you see it?" Sam asked abruptly, still out of breath.

Dean looked confused. "Whaddya mean, of course I saw it. Freaky shadowy son of a-"

"No, when it was standing over me-it was a boy. Under the darkness, it was just this little kid."

"Well then that 'little kid' just did…this." He gestured around them at the blacked-out houses.

Something dawned on Sam. "Hey Dean, where is everybody?"

Dean was only half-listening as he squinted through the rain trying to figure out where the ghost had gone. "What?"

"I just fired a shotgun in the middle of someone's front lawn," Sam said. "People's lights came on but no one came out. No alarms, no sirens, nothing. Where is everybody?"

They looked at each other, the answer slowly coming together but neither of them wanting to say it out loud. Was it possible for one spirit to knock out all those people at once without even being in the same house as them? Even for a couple of hunters who had practically lived and breathed crazy since the day their dad first put a gun in their hands, this was almost beyond belief. But it was the only explanation.

A shift in the shadows at the side of the house and a soft _thump_ snapped their thoughts back to the situation at hand. The outline of a little girl was crouching there, having seemingly dropped from one of the ground floor windows.

"Caitlin?" Dean called.

Lightning flashed but the girl's shape stayed masked in darkness.

"I don't think that's Caitlin anymore," Sam said darkly.

The girl suddenly straightened up and with impossible speed took off for the backyard.

"What the hxll?" Dean said, and broke into a run after her. Sam was close at his heels.

Caitlin scaled the back fence as easily as a normal kid playing a game of leap frog. She landed on the other side and kept going, darting out into the street.

Dean leapt the fence and raced on, but Sam hesitated, watching his brother tear off through the rain as the ghost-possessed child quickly pulled farther and farther ahead.

There was no way they were going to catch her on foot, Sam realized. Despite every instinct telling him to follow Dean, Sam turned and ran the other way, digging in his pocket for the keys to the Impala.

00000000

Skidding on the wet grass, Dean tore after the girl. Her pajama-clad legs flashed with unnatural speed as she lengthened the distance between them. _Dxxn, this thing is fast_ , Dean thought as he forced himself to pick up the pace. He was honestly trying not to think about what a spirit this powerful might do to him, _if_ he could even catch it first.

Street lights blew out as the ghost flew past. Eventually there were no more lights, just empty field and darkness expanding in every direction. Dean could barely see anything, could hardly tell where the girl was but for the occasional glimpse of her gleaming blonde hair, which every time appeared farther away. Mud was dragging at his boots and slowing him down, rain driving into his eyes.

But Dean Winchester wasn't the type to give up easily. So when a car came squealing to a stop on the road in front of him, he nearly jumped the hood and kept going. He recognized the Impala just in time and instead spun around the front to the passenger side. Sam threw the door open for him and Dean practically hurled himself into the seat. "Drive!" he said, and Sam gunned the engine.

They had to stick to the roads or risk getting stuck in the muddy fields, but they managed to keep the spirit in sight, catching the fleeing girl in the high beams whenever turns put her in front of them.

Dean clutched the shotgun in his lap, burning to use it but knowing he couldn't without hurting Caitlin. _Dxxn._ This whole thing was just so messed up. He'd never seen a ghost so powerful, never even _heard_ of one before. What the hxll was going on here?

A forest was coming up on the left, and the ghost was running straight for it. Sam risked turning off the road and the car jolted over the uneven ground. _Go easy on her, Sam,_ Dean thought, but didn't say anything; much as it pained him to accept, now wasn't the time to worry about the car.

The headlights bounced confusingly with the car's motion and for a moment they lost sight of ghost-Caitlin. Then Dean caught a flash of her pale form slipping into the trees.

"There!" he said, pointing. Sam hit the brakes and they both jumped out. The trees loomed like wraiths, darkness and thorns choking the ground beneath them. But Sam and Dean barely noticed this; the only thought in their minds was that Caitlin was in serious trouble, and, weapons in hand, they plunged into the woods.

It was instant chaos. Stumbling over roots, tearing through thickets, dodging trees, feet pounding, leaves crunching, Dean cursing. They ran half-blind, nothing but the small flashlights they always kept on them to keep them from smacking into trees. The darkness seemed alive, taunting them, playing tricks on their eyes, trying to pull them apart as it pulled Caitlin into it. In the madness they didn't even stop to think where they were going, they just kept on, trying to reach the ghost and the girl it possessed.

But then Caitlin was gone. One second she was bounding through the trees ahead of them, the next she had slipped around a bend and vanished. Dean skidded to a stop, breathing hard. He swung the flashlight in a wild arc, searching, but there was nothing. He listened hard for the rustling crunch of receding footsteps and heard only his own ragged breathing and pounding pulse. The forest around him was silent.

"Dxxn it." Dean ruefully tucked the shotgun away. He stood there for a moment catching his breath and glaring into the darkness. Through the branches, stars were now visible among the scattered clouds. Dean realized that the rain had stopped, though with the water dripping from leaves the downpour may as well have still been going.

Then his heart skipped a beat as something else occurred to him.

"Sam?" he called. No response. Dean spun around. "Sam?" he yelled it this time. Still nothing. He checked his cell, got a 'no signal' message.

He cursed, looking around at the darkness. This was just great. First he lost Caitlin, now his brother. _Hxll_ , he thought, _I even got myself lost_.

Twigs snapped and Dean spun toward the sound. "Sam?" He crept forward, lifting the gun just in case. "Sammy?"

"Dean." The voice came from behind him. He jumped and whirled around, pointing the gun into Sam's startled face.

"Whoa, dude, watch where you point that thing," Sam said, pushing the barrel away. Like Dean, he was soaking wet and panting.

Dean let out a tense breath. "Don't sneak up on me like that," he snapped, more relieved than irritated. "What happened, anyway? I thought you were right behind me."

"Flashlight died." Sam held it up to show him before shoving it back in his pocket. "Where's Caitlin?"

"She got away. And no, I don't know which way she went. I don't even know where _we_ are."

"Great," Sam sighed.

Dean eyed him suspiciously. "Hey, you're not possessed or anything, right?"

"No, last time I checked," Sam replied, but he pulled out an iron blade and held it out to Dean. "After you."

"Ladies first," Dean countered.

Sam flashed a sour smile and drew the knife across his forearm. He grimaced as blood welled up. Definitely not possessed.

Dean took the knife and did the same, then handed it back to Sam.

Sam swiped it clean on his sleeve. "Great, no one's possessed. So now what?"

"Help me find some tracks."

"What?"

"Caitlin's tracks, or ghost-boy's. We find the tracks, we can figure out which way she—he—it, whatever, went."

"Dean, come on, Caitlin's long gone by now. We have a better chance of finding her if we get out of the woods first."

"Maybe, but what if she's still in here somewhere?"

Sam raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Why would she be? You think this ghost is possessing kids just to run them out into the middle of the woods and dump them here?"

"Weirder things have happened. You really want to take the chance that she's not still out here?"

Sam was about to protest when Dean said, "Hey, I think I found something."

Sam looked over his shoulder. A single set of footprints were scuffed into the mud. Dean followed the trail with the flashlight beam. "This way."

"Look, just think about this for a second," Sam said as Dean started after the footprints. "Even if the ghost is still out here, what are we gonna do about it? What it did back there with the lights, the people—hxll, everything it's done so far is beyond anything we've ever seen a spirit do. You really think we stand a chance against it with a couple rounds of rock salt?"

"We're not just gonna give up, Sam," Dean said.

"I'm not saying we should. All I'm saying is, our best chance against this thing is figuring out who it is and finding its bones and burning them."

"Yeah, and Caitlin's best chance of surviving the night is if we find her as soon as possible. Anyway when was the last time all it took to gank a ghost was burning its bones? It always turns into a freakin' scavenger hunt trying to track down whatever object the dxxn thing got some DNA on while it was alive."

Sam frowned. Dean had a point. "Alright, but still, it'd be faster to find Caitlin if we backtrack outta here, get the car, and pick up the trail on the other side of the woods."

"Unless she's still _in_ the woods."

"Again, why would she be? There's nothing out here."

Dean stopped suddenly."Except for that," he said.

In front of them, the trees ended abruptly in a small clearing, at the center of which sat a house. Small and weather-beaten, it was barely more than a glorified shack, with cracked wooden walls, busted windows, and a roof on the verge of caving in. To Dean, the whole thing looked one good huff and a puff away from being blown down.

"Tell me that doesn't look like the poster child for haunted houses," Dean said, grinning at Sam.

Sam's brow was raised in a look of mild surprise. "Well. Looks like you were right."

"Yeah, hurts every time, don't it?" Dean said smugly, starting towards the house. He didn't even make it one step before being thrown back, smacking into a tree.

Sam opened his mouth to yell after his brother, but he was hurled into the woods, pinned to a tree beside Dean. Their weapons were wrenched from their hands and flung off into the darkness. The two hunters hung there, struggling against the force but unable to move.

A dark shape materialized before them—the ghost, no longer wearing Caitlin. The darkness pulled away from it, once again revealing the dark-haired little boy. It peered up at them with an inscrutable gaze.

"Where's Caitlin?" Dean demanded. "What'd you do with her?"

The boy just looked at him.

"Who are you?" Sam tried. The boy turned his gaze on the younger Winchester and grinned.

 _Let's play a game._

The voice echoed in the hunters' heads. They heard the words, but the boy's mouth never moved. "What the hxll-" Dean said.

 _Let's play hide and seek_.

Sam and Dean exchanged bewildered looks. The boy's smile widened.

 _I'll go first,_ the spirit's voice said. _You have to the count of ten. That_ —it pointed back at the house— _is out of bounds. If you try to go there…_

Ice closed around their chests. Dean choked as his lungs froze and he was unable to breathe. His pulse slowed, his heart nearly stopping as the cold crept into it. Then it was gone. The force pinning them to the trees vanished as well, and they fell to their hands and knees, gasping.

The ghost smiled down at them, waiting for them to recover. Then, as they watched, it put its hands over its eyes. For the first time, its lips moved. There was no voice this time, but Sam and Dean knew what it was mouthing.

 _One…_

 _two…_

 _three…_

The brothers looked at each other, eyes wide with a wordless message of their own: _RUN._

They scrambled to their feet and booked it into the trees.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Sam called as they ran. Dean was in the lead with the flashlight, taking them on a seemingly erratic path.

"Away from Casper, that's good enough for me," Dean yelled back, tearing through a thorn bush. Both of them were trying not to think about what happened when that thing reached ten.

 _Ready or not, here I come_ …

Apparently they were about to find out.

Through the trees, Dean caught a glimpse of empty field. "We're gonna make it!" He panted. Sam, who had been keeping his eyes on the path to keep from falling, looked up. Relief flooded into him just as a blow came crashing in from the side, knocking him to the ground.

Dean spun. The spirit stood on the path behind him. It was smiling down at Sam, who was writhing on the ground, struggling to breathe.

"Hey!" Dean yelled. It was a stupid move considering he had no weapon, and he realized it as the boy's gaze snapped to look at him, but at least he'd gotten the thing's attention away from Sammy. The wintery hand closed around Dean once more and he went down choking as what felt like shards of ice pierced his throat and chest.

Dean's vision started to go dark. He looked around, desperate for a weapon, but of course there was none. All he saw was his brother lying a few feet off, completely still, face pale in the moonlight. Then the boy leaned in, blocking Dean's view. The last thing he saw before blacking out was the spirit's dead blue eyes and the cold smile playing on its lips.

 _You're it._

* * *

 **Whew. End of chapter three. All I can say is, ow. My brain hurts.**

 **Just kidding, I can say much more than that...I am a writer, after all. Reviews are seriously welcome! Any questions, comments, things I need to fix or work on... Seriously, anything you have to say...it's all good.**

 **Also, thanks to the three people following, and the two people who left reviews. You people rock-seriously made my day :)**


	4. Finally, Some Answers (Part 1)

**Slight spoiler alert in this chapter for anyone who hasn't seen season 2. I never had a particular season in mind for this story to be set in, but I'd say it could fit in anywhere after 2.**

 **Also, I've been doing a lot of reading lately and I tend to kind of absorb the style of whatever I'm reading, so if this chapter seems different, that's why. I figured to heck with consistency if it makes the writing better. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

Dean came to suddenly. His eyes flew open and he bolted upright. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing as his mind sluggishly adjusted to being awake. Pale blue sky, rosy dawn lighting, empty field. A few feet away sat the Impala, mud-splattered and waiting patiently. The woods behind him murmured innocently in the cool morning breeze.

Stretched out in the grass beside him was Sam, not yet awake. Dean blinked down at him uncomprehendingly, his sleep-muddled mind trying to piece together what they were doing out in a field in the middle of nowhere. When he finally remembered, the night's events came flooding back to him in a tide of adrenaline-laced flashes. Caitlin. Ghost boy. Woods. House. Hide and seek. _Riiight…_

Dean groaned and rubbed his eyes. A whole lot of crap had gone down last night, and it looked like the fun was far from over. Time to get back up and deal with it.

"Sam. Hey. Sam." Dean nudged his brother's leg with one boot. "Come on, man, time to wake up."

Sam moaned irritably in response, but his eyes blinked open. He frowned, momentarily confused by his surroundings. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking from field to car to woods and finally to Dean. "How'd we end up out here?" he asked blearily.

Dean raised an eyebrow, but figuring Sam was just as out of it as Dean had been when he first woke up, he patiently gave him the recap. "Chasing Casper the unfriendly ghost, remember? He had Caitlin, we followed him-her-it into the woods, played a lovely game of hide and seek-"

"Yeah," Sam said, running a hand through his tousled hair and casting a glance over his shoulder at the trees. "But he caught up to us in the woods, knocked us out there. How are we out here now?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, already ditching the attempt at patience. Of everything that had happened last night, _that_ was what Sam had questions about? "I guess he just tossed us out once he was done freezing our axxes in carbonite." Dean shivered. He was chilled to the bone, whether from laying out in the open all night soaking wet or from the aftereffects of the encounter with the spirit, he didn't know or really care, just like he didn't really care how exactly they'd ended up outside the forest. They had bigger problems to deal with.

"Alright, let me rephrase that," Sam said, sitting up further and looking more awake. "Why didn't ghost boy just kill us back there when he had the chance? Why let us live?"

 _That,_ Dean had to admit, was a good question. Ghost kid was obviously a vengeful spirit, pissed as heck and channeling his anger to get what he wanted—whatever that was—and keep people from interfering. But what he was doing didn't make sense. Possessing kids, taking them out into the woods, leaving Sam and Dean alive when he could have easily killed them… _Why?_ Dean didn't have the answers.

And he knew Sam didn't expect him to, so he let the question hang ominous and unanswered between them and pushed himself to his feet. His cold muscles protested the movement but he ignored them and pulled Sam up, who winced, just as sore as Dean.

"You good?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied, stiffly brushing off his jeans. Both he and Dean were a mess of half-dried mud, shredded dead leaves, and thorn scratches-it looked like they had lost a fight with a leaf-blower wielding cat in a mud pit. "You?"

"Friggin' peachy," Dean answered gruffly. He threw a glare at the forest. Knowing they were both alive, awake, and for the moment out of danger, his annoyance towards everything that had happened started to rise. "We didn't save Caitlin, two perfectly good sawed-offs are rotting in the woods somewhere, and we just got our butts whooped by Danny freakin' Phantom. Oh, and I'm paying for a motel room we didn't even get to sleep in."

Sam smiled ruefully. "Well, on the bright side, the ground was probably more comfortable than those beds would've been."

Dean snorted. Leave it to Sam to see the silver lining. But Dean had to agree with him-not that it made him feel any better. They stood for a moment in silence, watching the forest. Somewhere among those trees was a house, and in that house was a bunch of missing children. They both knew it-why else would the ghost be trying to keep the hunters away from it? What they didn't know was what the spirit wanted with the kids in the first place, or how they were going to get into the house. Or if the kids were even still alive.

But standing around wondering wasn't going to get them answers, and it certainly wasn't going to save those kids. Charging back into the woods on another half-cocked rescue attempt wasn't an option—luck was rarely with the Winchesters, and it likely wouldn't stick around for a round two. There was only one way they were going to figure all this out. Dean sighed, releasing his frustration and resigning himself to his fate.

"Time to grab your laptop, nerd-boy," he said. He clapped Sam on the back and turned towards the car. "Looks like we've got some more research to do."

As they got into the Impala, Sam wondered how quickly the _we_ would become just _him._

00000000

They got back to the motel around eight in the morning, and after getting cleaned up and grabbing something to eat out of a vending machine, they headed back into town in search of better Wi-Fi. They ended up at the library, and as it turned out, Dean actually _did_ help research.

Smiling back at the attractive young librarian, Dean plopped into a chair across from Sam. The younger Winchester didn't even look up from his computer as he said, "Please tell me you got more information out of her than just her number."

Dean pretended to look hurt. "You don't think I'd be over there flirting with the hot librarian while my little brother's over here slaving away, do ya?"

Sam glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.

Dean slapped several newspaper articles onto the table. "Well, I wasn't, this time anyway," he said. "Turns out she had a ton of information on the Anderson place."

Sam continued to look at him, raising the other eyebrow.

"And yeah, I got her number," Dean said with a quick grin.

Sam looked back at the laptop, shaking his head in a ' _yeah, that's what I thought_ ' sort of way, but he made no other comment. Instead he asked, "So what'd you find out? I take it 'the Anderson place' is the charming little country house we found last night?"

"That's the one," Dean replied. He held up a page to show Sam a picture. A single story house surrounded by woods, depicted in black and white. It was definitely the place they'd chased ghost boy to. It looked less rundown in the photograph, but it was still clearly abandoned. Abandoned by the living, at least.

Dean said, "Librarian says no one's lived there for—what'd she say—forty, fifty years? The previous owners, the Anderson family, ditched the place and no one's lived there since. Most everyone in town forgot the house was even there until a couple of weeks ago."

"Just before kids started going missing," Sam said, eyes darting over the page. "So let me guess: something happened there two weeks ago."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. The death of one seven-year-old Aiden Hall." He sifted through the newspapers to another photo, this one of a little boy.

Sam sucked in a breath when he saw it. A face just a few shades less pale than it was in death, the eyes that had smiled down at him as he lost consciousness were now gazing at him from the newspaper. Ghost-boy. It was far from the first time Sam had seen the result of an innocent life destroyed so tragically that a spirit couldn't let go, but he still felt a pang of sadness. Forget that he had been thrown around the woods and nearly asphyxiated by invisible icy daggers. Aiden was just a kid. Just a lost, angry kid.

"Apparently he was playing in the Anderson house when the roof collapsed on him," Dean went on. "Paper says he was killed instantly."

Sam tore his gaze from the photograph to shoot his brother a questioning look. "The roof didn't look collapsed last night. On the verge of it, yeah, but it was still intact."

"Gets weirder," Dean said. "The townspeople had the house demolished a couple days after they found the kid's body. They wanted to make sure no one else got hurt there."

It took a moment for Dean's words to sink in, and when they did, Sam's eyes widened. The house they'd seen barely standing in the woods—it wasn't supposed to be standing at all. Sam's head spun with the implications. "So either the townspeople regretted knocking it down and decided to rebuild…"

"…Or ghost kid did a little large-scale Lincoln logging and put it back together himself," Dean finished.

Sam gave a low, impressed whistle. It took most spirits months just to come to terms with being dead, but Aiden had somehow managed to single-handedly rebuild a house just days after dying. They'd known the spirit was powerful, but this…this was beyond anything they could have imagined. And being hunters, that was really saying something.

"Oh, and guess who petitioned to have the place bulldozed," Dean said. He went back to the page with the photo of the Anderson house and read out of the article. "Laura Burke, Lyle and Sandra Garner, Patrick Davis, Donna Jacobs, and Austin and Sarah Russel."

"The victim's parents," Sam said, recognizing the names.

Dean nodded. "Plus the Russels, but I guess Aiden's probably gunning for them now and little Denny's next to go."

"Daniel," Sam corrected him absentmindedly, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing. "So Aiden dies while playing in the Anderson house, the townspeople tear the place down…and what, that disturbs Aiden's spirit, so he gets revenge by kidnapping their children?"

"That's my best guess," Dean shrugged. "It's not a great theory, but I don't see what else could be going on."

"But why go after the kids? Why not go for the people really responsible?" Sam sat back in his chair, shaking his head. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Since when does anything we deal with make sense?" Dean said. "That's just part of the job, Sammy."

Of course Sam knew that, but he still sensed that something was off about all of this. So maybe Aiden had been haunting the Anderson place after he died, and was now seeking revenge because the townspeople had demolished his resting place. It was possible, but shaky, and there were pieces missing. Going along with it for the moment Sam said, "Alright, but why would Aiden's spirit be haunting the Anderson place to begin with? His death was an accident, and he was just a little kid—there shouldn't be any anger or unfinished business or anything like that to keep him from moving on. What's he holding on to?"

"That I think I can answer," Dean said, looking like he'd been waiting for Sam to ask. With a dramatic flourish, he flipped to a picture of Aiden standing with a somber-faced woman who was clearly the boy's mother. Sam looked at the photo uncomprehendingly, then at Dean, eyebrows hiking back up in a ' _so what?'_ expression.

Dean retaliated with a ' _don't worry, it gets better,'_ look, and said, "Read the fine print," tapping the caption beneath the photo.

 _Aiden's mother, Susan Hall, and twin brother, Logan, devastated by the loss…_ Sam did a slight double take at the words 'twin brother.' Aiden had an identical twin. It was Logan, not Aiden, standing with the woman in the photograph. It was obvious now that the picture had been taken after Aiden's death. No wonder the mother looked sad.

"Twin brother," Dean said, pointing to the words when Sam didn't immediately respond.

 _Yeah, thanks Dean, I_ can _read_ , Sam resisted the urge to say. But he could see where Dean was going with this. "You think Aiden stayed behind because of Logan?" Sam asked, a little dubious.

Now it was Dean's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Uh, yeah," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If a person's attached enough to someone else, they'll stick around with them even for the afterlife. And who'd have a stronger connection than twins? I mean, we're not even twins but we still defy death for each other like we're gettin' paid for it."

Well, he wasn't wrong about that. But still, this was all just a lot of assumption. "Not all brothers fight monsters together," Sam argued.

Dean's brow furrowed in a look of mock contemplation. "You know, I thought the number of hunters out there was lookin' a little slim," he said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "What I mean is, some siblings don't get along all that well, twins or not."

"Hey, we're hardly the Brady's, but in between tearing at each other's throats we're still going to hell and back for each other," Dean said. "You don't have to get along constantly to risk your life—or I guess afterlife-for someone you care about. Anyway, I happen to have it on good authority that Aiden and Logan were thick as thieves." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the librarian's general direction. "She said they spent a lot of time in here. Never saw one without the other—like they were each other's shadows."

So Aiden and Logan _did_ get along. It _was_ possible then that Aiden's spirit was too attached to his twin to move on. Well, this assumption at least was starting to seem feasible. Then again, it opened up a whole new branch of questions.

"If they were always together, where was Logan when Aiden died?" Sam asked. "Why would Aiden be haunting the Anderson place if what he's really attached to is his brother? And what was he even doing at the Anderson place to begin with? You said the whole town's forgotten it even existed—how would Aiden know about it?"

Dean sighed impatiently. "Look, I don't know, but does it really matter _why_ all this happened the way it did? I mean, sure it'd be nice to know-fill in the blanks, complete the nice little mystery novel we got goin' here. But it's not gonna help us save Caitlin and the others, if they're even still alive. What we really need to know is how to get rid of Aiden's spirit or how to get past it."

"And you don't think knowing the whole story might help with that?" Sam asked.

"It might help, it might not, but while we're poking around in here looking for answers we probably don't need Aiden's out there doing who knows what to those kids, maybe even going after another one. We don't have time to sit around playing detective, Sammy."

As if calling him 'Sammy' was going to win him the argument. "Dean, we've never seen a spirit this powerful before. We have no idea what it's got planned or why. I want to help those kids as much as you do, but if we're gonna have a chance against this thing we need to know as much as possible about what's going on."

Dean snorted sarcastically. "Oh yeah, like if we figure out Aiden's favorite color maybe we can use it against him."

"Oh come on," Sam said, exasperated. "You know that's not what I mean."

"Yeah, what you mean is, let's sit around a library trying to explain why ghosts don't make any sense while a bunch of kids rot in the woods, when all we really _need_ to know is how to kill the dxxn thing."

"Actually, what I mean is, let's figure everything out _before_ we go charging back into the woods and getting ourselves killed. Because news flash, Dean, we can't save anyone if we're dead!"

"Oh yeah?" Dean said ominously. "I got a news flash for ya." He rose halfway from his chair, looking like he was about to leap across the table and tackle his brother.

Before he could do anything someone cleared their throat right behind him. He froze and looked over his shoulder. The librarian stood there watching the two of them, a stern look on her pretty face.

"If you two are going to have it out, would you mind doing so somewhere other than my library?" She said. "Otherwise, please keep it civilized. We have a strict 'no brawling' policy, and I'd hate to have to throw you guys out."

Dean sank sheepishly back into his seat, Sam mumbling an apology. Neither of them had noticed how loud their conversation had become.

"Thank you," the librarian said brightly, turning back to the front desk. Her heels clicked, skirted hips swaying, as she strode away.

Sam and Dean watched her go, momentarily distracted from their argument.

"Dude, we totally just got shushed by the librarian," Dean muttered, a slight note of awe in his voice as he pointed out the cliché. "And it was kinda hot."

Sam snorted. He kept his voice low as he said, "Yeah, good luck with her now. She just caught us arguing about ghosts. I doubt you'll have much of a chance with her now that she thinks you're insane."

"Still a better chance than you'd ever have," Dean shot back.

"Jerk." Sam replied.

"Bxtch."

Sam grinned, the tension from their argument already forgotten. It had really just been meaningless bickering anyway—after the night they'd had, they were both tired, touchy, and ready to be done with the job, and of course the best way they had to vent their frustration was on each other. But despite the disagreement, Sam knew that Dean wasn't about to charge off unprepared, just as Sam wasn't going to dig around the library for useless information while kids were in danger.

"So, where were we?" Dean said. "Oh yeah: I'm right, you're wrong. What's next?"

An excellent question, Sam thought, disregarding the statement preceding it. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "I guess we need to go talk to Susan Hall."

Dean looked like he was going to protest, but Sam cut him off. "Look, even if we're going to skip figuring out the whole story- _for now_ -there are still some things we need to know."

"Like?"

"Like whether or not Aiden was cremated, for starters."

"He was," Dean said. Sam looked at him, surprised he already knew. Dean shrugged. "The Librarian mentioned it when I asked about the funeral."

Sam cursed under his breath. So burning the body was no longer an option for getting rid of this spirit.

"I told ya, Sammy. When's it ever been that simple?" Dean drummed his fingers across the tabletop. "Burning the body probably wouldn't have worked anyway, if it really is Logan that's holding Aiden back."

 _Good point,_ Sam thought. "Then we need to talk to Logan. Find out what he knows about it. He might be able to help us get past Aiden, maybe even get him to move on."

"He better be able to," Dean said darkly. "Or else the only way we can get rid of Aiden's spirit is…"

He didn't have to finish. Sam knew what he was thinking, and he had to suppress a shudder. Killing Logan to destroy Aiden's connection to the world of the living...it might end up being the only sure way to get rid of the spirit. They'd never in a million years resort to that, but the fact that it had even crossed their minds made Sam feel awful. "We're not doing that," he said.

They would find another way.

"I know," Dean said, and Sam knew he'd been thinking the same thing.

It was one of those times when being a hunter really sucked. They didn't have all the answers—not even close. Figuring it all out would take time that Caitlin didn't have, but _not_ figuring it out would likely get them killed. They were running on a bunch of _maybes, probably's,_ and _hopefully's_. It might already be too late for the people they were trying to save, and they had no plan for getting rid of the spirit causing all of this in the first place.

"I don't know about you," Dean said, interrupting Sam's dismal thoughts, "But I'm feeling pretty optimistic about the whole thing."

Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean said, "No, really. We go talk to Logan, tell him his twin brother's out terrorizing the neighborhood, Logan calls him off, we get into the Anderson place, save the kids, we all get breakfast torpedoes and go home happy."

That really was optimistic. _Who are you and what have you done with Dean?_ Sam thought in bitter amusement. Ruefully, he quoted Dean's earlier question. "When's it ever been that simple?"

"Just think about it," Dean insisted, but Sam could tell he wasn't being serious. "Twins are supposed to have some kind of weird psychic connection, right? The whole, 'they feel what the other feels' thing, like a sixth sense? Logan can use his ESP twin thing and convince Aiden to get on with his afterlife."

Dean was clearly waiting for Sam to laugh or roll his eyes again or at least tell him to get serious, but he didn't. Because Sam was looking back at his laptop, thinking. _Dean might not be entirely wrong here._

"Uh, Sam?" Dean said. "You know I'm just joking, right? That whole sixth sense twin thing is just a myth."

"Actually," Sam said slowly, "you might be onto something." He turned the laptop around to face Dean. While Dean had been getting information about the house in the woods, Sam had been searching for an explanation for how Aiden's spirit could be so powerful. Dean's comments had reminded him of what he'd found. He'd been doubtful at first, but now…

"' _Beyond the Veil: Psychics and Spirits?'"_ Dean said, once again sounding skeptical of Sam's internet findings. "And this is…"

"The only thing I could find that explains Aiden," Sam said simply.

Dean glanced at the article, then raised an eyebrow. "Wait. You think he was psychic?" He skimmed quickly through the page, no doubt trusting Sam would give him the gist of it.

Which of course Sam did. "After reading this, I think it's definitely possible," he said, leaning forward as he became engaged in the topic. "Psychics have heightened senses that allow them to pick up on and sometimes manipulate energies that normal people can't perceive. This website theorizes that if a psychic dies and becomes a spirit, their abilities carry over to their new state of being and enhance the psychic abilities that any normal ghost possesses. Granted, it _is_ just a theory, and I haven't found anything to support it, but it makes sense."

Dean blinked, looking taken aback and grudgingly impressed at the sudden rush of information. "Yeah, I guess it does," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But then why haven't we heard about this before?"

"Considering how few real psychics there are and the fact that the majority of people who die don't become ghosts, I'm not surprised we haven't," Sam said. "And for all we know, we could've come across a psychic's spirit before and just written it off as a strong poltergeist."

Dean nodded. Sam hadn't been sure he would accept the idea of a psychically charged ghost, but he looked like he was taking it seriously enough. He watched as his brother stared at the screen, thinking it over, until Dean finally said, "Okay, let's say this isn't a bogus theory and Aiden _is_ a psychic. You don't think this could have anything to do with old Yellow Eyes, do you?" he failed to keep a slight note of concern from creeping into his voice. "I mean he did mention other generations…"

Sam shook his head. The thought had already occurred to him—every time the word 'psychic' came up he flashed back to the visions of death that used to torment him and he'd see the sick yellow eyes of the demon that had ruined his life. But this was different. "No. All of that…couldn't be what's happening to Aiden," he said. "For one thing, the powers aren't supposed to manifest at his age. And even if they did, they should've gone away when we killed Yellow Eyes."

Dean was obviously relieved. "So Aiden's just a good old natural-born psychic."

"Assuming the website's not just a bunch of bs," Sam said, glad to be moving on from the subject of Yellow Eyes. "We won't know until we talk to Logan."

Dean closed the laptop and stood, an eager look on his face that all but said, 'what are we waiting for?' He did them both a favor by ignoring the cringe-worthy cliché and instead said, "Then let's go already. This ghost ain't gonna gank itself."

Sam grabbed his computer and followed Dean, who gave the librarian a roguish wave on the way out. As they once again climbed into the Impala, Sam couldn't help but feel that their trip to the library had left him with more questions than answers. Was Aiden really psychic? How had he found the Anderson place? Why wasn't his supposedly inseparable twin brother with him when the accident happened? Why was he possessing children?

Hopefully they were about to find out.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Next chapter: Finally, Some Answers Part 2, is well under way and should be up soon!**


	5. Finally, Some Answers (Part 2)

"How about polter-psyches?"

Sam jerked out of his staring contest with the window and looked at his brother. "What?"

"Polter-psyches," Dean repeated, not taking his eyes off the road. "It's a combination of 'poltergeist' and 'psychic.'"

"Yeah, I got that," Sam replied. "But what are you talking about?"

"Aw, don't tell me I've been having this whole conversation with the car," Dean said. He shot Sam an annoyed look. "Remember I said we should come up with a name for what Aiden is, because 'ghost of a psychic' takes too long?"

Sam frowned. "Sorry." He sat back, glancing out the window and realizing he hadn't even been paying attention to where they were, much less what Dean had been saying. The suburbs had given way to a rural landscape; fields, trees, and the occasional house flashed by. "Must've zoned out."

"You think?" Dean grumbled.

"Hang on," Sam said. " _Polter-psyche_? Is that the best you could come up with?"

"Didn't hear you suggesting anything better," Dean said defensively.

Sam held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, call it whatever you want," he said, then muttered, "Just don't expect me to use it."

"Oh, har har," Dean said huffily. They lapsed into silence, Dean concentrating on driving and Sam resuming his stare-down with the landscape.

"What're you thinkin' about, anyway?" Dean eventually asked. He glanced at the scribbled directions Sam had gotten off the internet and turned onto a side road—neither of them had been surprised to learn that the Halls lived within a mile of the Anderson house."You look like you're trying to melt the window."

Sam exhaled wearily . "I was just wondering why Aiden would be going after those kids."

"Yeah?" Dean said. His gaze flicked to his brother, mildly curious. "Got any theories?"

"Nothing concrete." Sam replied. "It doesn't make sense he'd be taking them for what their parents did. You said Aiden was seven, right? Same age as the victims—they probably knew each other from school or something. I'm guessing he has something against them personally."

"Like what?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm hoping Logan can tell us."

Dean's cell phone went off, cutting into the relative silence. He fished it out of his pocket and answered. "Agent Stark here," he said with a half grin. Sam shook his head—Dean was still getting a kick out of that alias. But the older Winchester's smile quickly vanished as he demanded, "What? When?"

Sam sat up, interested. He watched his brother apprehensively, trying to read his face for a clue as to what the person on the other end of the line was telling him. Dean's expression shifted from confused to dead serious as he listened. By the time he thanked whoever and hung up, his jaw was set in that resolved sort of way it usually got when he was ready to hunt someone down and strangle them, screw the consequences.

Glowering, he stuffed the phone away and said, "That was Sheriff Reid."

The hint of dread already gnawing at Sam's stomach spiked. "Don't tell me…"

"Daniel Russel's just been reported missing," Dean said bluntly.

Sam bit back a curse. "What? How's that possible?" he asked. "It's the middle of the day, Aiden only comes at night."

"Yeah, try telling him that," Dean grunted. He nudged the accelerator and they picked up speed on the bumpy country road. "Apparently he didn't feel like waiting."

The car was bouncing like crazy, but Sam didn't tell Dean to slow down. They really couldn't afford to. Since Caitlin had been taken the previous night, they'd figured they would have at least another day before Aiden went after anyone else. Obviously they'd been wrong. Aiden had sped up his timeline— _again_ -and Sam had the sick feeling it was because the spirit knew there were hunters closing in. It didn't bode well for the missing children; if Aiden was keeping them alive for something, then the end game was fast approaching.

Despite the nagging fear that they were already too late, Sam tried to remain optimistic. "Mrs. Burke mentioned other kids," he said. "Remember? She named Clark, Melissa, Caitlin, and Daniel, but she _did_ say there were others in Victor's group of friends, the group Aiden's targeting. Whatever Aiden's planning to do with them, maybe he's not done yet. We might still have more time."

"You really think so?" Dean asked in a tone that clearly said he didn't. "Cuz it looks to me like Casper just finished his collection. This whole time he's been getting stronger, taking less time between possessions, building up to whatever he's got planned. He knows we're coming for him, and he's gonna try to finish this before we do."

Barely slowing down, Dean turned onto a tree-flanked gravel driveway. He drummed the steering wheel impatiently. "Logan better have some answers, or polter-psyche or not I'm getting into that house."

This time, Sam had to agree with him. This was their last lead. If Logan couldn't help them, they wouldn't have time to figure out a new plan. They'd have to resort to storming the castle, and after the way that had gone last night…

Logan better know how to call off his brother.

The trees opened up and the driveway ended. The car crunched to a stop in front of a simple, two-story house that looked weathered and somehow forlorn. The lawn was toeing the line between rustically shaggy and just plain neglected, and the potted plants arranged on the porch railing were all shriveled to cheerless crisps. If they didn't know better, the Winchesters would've assumed the house was empty.

A thought occurred to Sam as they approached the front door that brought no small amount of worry. What if Logan had no idea what his twin was up to? What if he didn't even know Aiden was a ghost? The hunters would be completely screwed.

But that wasn't likely, was it? All along they'd thought Logan was the reason Aiden hadn't moved on, and if that were the case Logan would surely know about it. Hopefully the Winchesters hadn't been wrong.

Inwardly, Sam sighed. Yet another _hopefully._ All this uncertainty did get a little old.

Lacking a doorbell, Dean opened the screen door to pound on the main door, then let the screen slam shut. They'd opted to ditch the fed suits this time, and Sam wondered if it had been a good idea. Without their formal attire they looked like just a couple of random dudes lurking around a house in the middle of nowhere, one of them with an impatient scowl on his face and the other on the intimidatingly tall side. Not exactly the kind of people you opened your door to. Oh well, too late now. With any luck Susan Hall was the unreasonably trusting type.

Dean gave it a full two seconds before reaching back for the handle to knock some more, but before he could the door swung open and an all too familiar face peered out. Sam's pulse sped up out of instinct. The boy staring up at them had the same expressionless gaze, same pale face, same _everything,_ as his spectral brother. The only difference was that this kid was alive.

"What?" Logan said. He blinked up at them through dark bangs, his t0ne not so much rude as it was weary. He looked between them, eyes seeming to ask, _are you guys just gonna stand there staring at me all day?_

Dean cleared his throat, caught off guard by Logan's sudden appearance and blunt stare. "Uh, we're with the FBI," he began, reaching for his badge.

Logan smirked. Sam thought he was laughing at Dean, but the boy's eyes were on something behind the two men. Sam glanced back but didn't see anything.

He exchanged a confused look with Dean, who shrugged slightly and said, "We have a few questions about—"

Logan pushed the screen door open. Surprised, Dean caught it just as Logan abruptly turned. "Come on. And don't be loud." The words were thrown over Logan's shoulder as the boy strode off into the house.

Confusion deepening, the hunters frowned at each other before following him.

The interior of the house was only slightly less gloomy than the exterior. Little light made it through the drawn curtains, and the narrow halls seemed to echo with despondency. Even the smiling photographs hanging on the walls seemed subdued.

It took them a moment of glancing uncertainly into rooms before finding Logan in the kitchen at the end of the hall. He was standing on tip-toes at the counter, slathering peanut butter onto a piece of bread. Sam and Dean ambled in, their urgency to save the missing children slipping to the backs of their minds as they regarded the strangeness of the situation.

"Um…" Sam said, unsure how to break the stony silence.

"Is your mother home?" Dean blurted, and Sam almost put his head in his hands. _That_ was definitely not the best opener for a couple of strangers talking to a seven year old.

But Logan was as unphased by the question as he had been about letting said strangers into his house. Putting the peanut buttered bread onto an already jellied slice, he said, "She's sleeping. Headache. She gets those a lot." He set the sandwich onto a stack and started a new one.

Dean eyed the stack of sandwiches. "That's a lot of PB&J," he said dubiously. "Those all for you?"

Logan didn't answer, just kept working on the sandwich.

"Okaaay," Dean said, shooting Sam a ' _help me out here'_ look. Sam was as much at a loss for where to begin as Dean, but he gave it a try. Keeping his voice gentle, he said, "You're Logan, right?" Of course he knew the answer, but they hadn't actually been introduced yet, so he figured it was a good place to start. "I'm Sam. This is my partner, Dean. We're with the FBI-"

"He already said that." Logan interrupted. He tipped his head toward Dean without taking his eyes off what he was doing. "And I know you're lying. You're here for my brother, right?"

Sam and Dean shared a wide-eyed look. Before they could say anything, Logan continued. "He told me about you. He said you had guns like in the movies. You followed him to the woods and played hide-and-seek. And you lost." Logan grinned at them.

Sam could see his own amazement reflected on Dean's face. Dean said, "You know he's…uh I mean you know he's…"

"Yeah, I know he's a ghost." Logan said, not bothering to wait for Dean to stutter out the question.

"Oh. Well. Great," Dean said, surprised more by the boy's frankness than anything. "Then you can tell us how to get rid of—er, I mean, you can tell us how to help him," he amended as Sam's elbow found his ribs.

Logan glanced over and broke out in a grin, snickering. Once again, Sam failed to see the source of his amusement.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked touchily.

Logan's smile vanished and he turned back to making sandwiches. "Aiden doesn't need help," he said, as though nothing had happened. "He's got me."

The hunters were starting to get whiplash from exchanging so many incredulous looks. Whatever they'd been expecting when they met Logan, it hadn't been this. "I know you want to look out for him," Dean said hesitantly. "He's your brother. I get that. But he's gone. It's best for everyone if you-"

"He's not gone!" Logan shouted. He whirled on them, butter knife dripping peanut butter and jelly as he glared at them, breathing hard and looking thunderous. Sam resisted the urge to take a step back.

Seeming to remember his mother was trying to sleep, Logan lowered his voice, but the animosity was still there. "He's dead. He's not gone. There's a difference." His eyes went distant as he whispered, "No one's ever really gone."

That's when a sudden suspicion hit Sam. "You can see them," he said, playing the hunch. "Spirits. Even when they're not manifested, you can still see them. And so could Aiden. Am I right?"

Logan said nothing, just sized Sam up before stiffly turning back to the counter.

"You're both psychics," Sam pressed.

Logan's silence was confirmation enough. So Aiden _had_ been a psychic. And now his abilities were fueling his unusual supernatural strength in the afterlife. The website hadn't been bogus after all.

Dean caught Sam's eye and mouthed _psychic twin thing_. Sam flicked his eyebrows in response. It wasn't the first time they'd come across psychic twins, but the first experience was so completely different from this they may as well be dealing with a whole new thing entirely.

A couple of seven year olds who could see the dead. And now Aiden was dead, but still keeping his brother company.

Sam realized something else. "Aiden's here right now, isn't he? That's what you were laughing at."

Logan nodded, glanced over, stifled a grin, and quickly looked away.

"What?" Dean asked, becoming paranoid. His eyes darted around the room. "Where is he? What's he doing?"

Logan just shrugged, smirking as he finished the sandwich and started a new one.

Looking unnerved, Dean said, "Look kid, we don't have time for games. Your brother's had a very busy afterlife, and we need to know why. Better yet, if you could just tell him to move on so we can _all_ get on with our lives, that'd be awesome."

"He's not going anywhere," Logan said. He started screwing the lids back onto the peanut butter and jelly.

"Logan, he's kidnapping kids and leaving them out in the middle of the woods," Sam said.

Logan looked at him. "Yeah, I know."

Sam really didn't like the way he said it.

"What do you mean, ' _you know?_ '" Dean demanded.

"It's our plan," Logan said. He switched his gaze to Dean. "They're learning a lesson."

And then yet another piece of the puzzle fell into place. _Oh crap._ Logan wasn't just some innocent bystander in all this. He wasn't just Aiden's anchor to the world of the living—he was his partner in crime. The supply of sandwiches was starting to make an ominous amount of sense. Logan couldn't possibly need them all, but a house full of kids-some of whom had been missing for over a week-would probably be pretty hungry.

It was starting to look like plan B—Logan- was the reason they had needed a plan A in the first place. We really should have contingencies for this, Sam thought.

Remaining calm and hoping they could solve all this with reason, Sam asked, "Why do they need to learn a lesson, Logan?"

"Because they're idiots," the boy spat with unexpected venom. "We tried to tell them about the shadow-people, but they didn't listen, they thought we were making it up. But now we can prove it to them, and they have to see what they did."

"What did they do?"

Logan gathered the sandwiches into a basket, turning away from them once more. "Aiden can show you," he said simply.

And then Aiden was there, standing between Logan and the hunters. He smiled frighteningly up at them, and they didn't even have time to think about rock salt and iron before the spirit raised his hands and they were plunged into darkness.

00000000000000000000000

Dean wasn't sure if he was awake.

He managed to drag his eyes open and his vision swam confusingly. Everything looked so… _Technicolor_ , he thought. And blurry. And too bright. Like an out of focus photograph of a sunny day, saturation turned up to maximum. Or looking through a kaleidoscope drunk. He couldn't make out his surroundings enough to figure out where he was, but there were two things he was sure of. One, he wasn't in Logan's kitchen anymore. And two, Sam was gone.

This last realization had him bolting upright. Shoving down panic, he called his brother's name. "Sam? Sammy?"

His voice echoed a thousand times over, and never got a response.

Dean pushed himself to his feet, the movement slowed as though he were pushing through quicksand. Colors and shapes swirled just beyond recognition around him. Putting his head in his hands, he tried to steady himself and remember what had happened. It felt like his brain was still half asleep, and prying out memories was like digging through thick, soupy mud. _Something about a house…a spirit…Logan…_

And just as the boy's face flashed through Dean's mind, his surroundings came crashing into focus.

"You shouldn't talk to them anymore."

Dean spun. For a moment he thought he was seeing double. _Not exactly._ It was Aiden and Logan. They were sitting on a bench set back from a playground, kids swarming the jungle gym in the distance. One of the boys—Dean couldn't tell which—was drawing in the dirt with a stick, his face wet with tears. The other was hunched forward, trying to meet his twin's eyes with a stern look on his face. Neither of them seemed aware of Dean's presence. This had to be a dream, Dean realized. Or a memory. Or a dream of a memory. He shook the thoughts away. Too confusing. All he knew was that no one else could see him, and he was watching unnoticed, Ebenezer Scrooge with ghost of Christmas past style.

"They don't know anything," Stern-face went on. Dean figured he was talking about the other kids and decided he must be Logan; the boy's spiteful tone was unmistakable. "What do you need them for, anyway? You got me. And the _others._ We don't need those idiots."

Aiden just sniffed.

Logan sighed loudly. Then his face broke out in a grin and he elbowed his brother playfully. "Hey, Aiden. Guess what the shadows told me."

Aiden finally looked up at him, curious. "What?"

Logan's smile widened and he jumped up off the bench. "Come on, I'll show you."

He took Aiden's hand and pulled him up. Aiden smiled as he ran off with his brother.

Dean's head spun as the image dissolved and he was suddenly surrounded by trees. He looked around for the boys and found them running ahead of him. Dean hurried after them, slowed once again by the quicksand effect, but managed to catch up just as they entered a clearing.

He pulled up short. The Anderson house loomed before him. It was almost unrecognizable in the daylight; with the sun dappling the mossy wood and glinting in the broken windows, the place was practically scenic.

Nevertheless, he approached warily as the boys ran up to it.

"What is this place?" Aiden asked. His eyes were wide with awe.

Logan grinned. "It's our new clubhouse. The shadows told me about it. Like it?"

Aiden nodded vigorously, then frowned. "Why didn't the shadows tell me about it?"

"Cuz you were too busy trying to play with dumb old Victor and Melissa and all those other blindies." Logan sneered. "But they're not allowed here. It's for shadow-seers only."

Aiden grinned. "And shadow-people, right?"

Logan agreed, "And shadow-people."

The twins then glanced around them, smiling, and a chill raced up Dean's spine as he suddenly became aware of the dark figures surrounding them. The shadows—shadow-people, spirits, whatever you wanted to call them—milled about along the tree line, shifting restlessly. Wherever the sunlight hit them they became transparent like smoke, but in the shade of the trees they were like human-shaped black holes. Dean could feel them watching.

He suppressed a shudder. Is this what spirits looked like when they weren't visibly manifested? When only someone psychically tuned into the paranormal could see them? It was beyond eerie. Why the heck were there so many of them?

He didn't have time to dwell on it as Aiden and Logan headed for the front door. Dean tried to follow them through, but just as he reached the threshold everything shifted again. He stumbled as the forest floor shimmered and became a neatly trimmed lawn. He looked up to find himself back near the playground.

A group of kids was crowding around one of the twins. With a shock, Dean recognized Caitlin Jacobs, Victor Burke, Melissa Davis, and Clark Garner. There was another boy Dean hadn't seen before, but he could only assume it was Daniel Russel.

"I'm not lying, it's true!" The twin—it had to be Aiden—cried.

"Yeah right." Victor scoffed. "You're crazy. All that stuff you say you can see, it's not really there. You're just making it all up."

"No I'm not! There really are shadow-people, there are tons of them at the clubhouse. I can show you!" Aiden insisted.

"Liar!" Melissa sneered.

"I'm not lying!" Aiden said again.

Clark cut in, "If you're not lying, then you're a freak."

Aiden's tear-filled eyes widened and he shook his head frantically. "No, I-"

"Freak!" Clark cut him off. The others picked up the chant, the girls giggling meanly as the group pressed in on Aiden.

"No!" Aiden sobbed. He broke away, running blindly.

"Freak, freak, freak!" The chant echoed as the scene melted away.

Dean was back in the forest, watching Aiden tear through the trees. The other kids were long gone, but he could still hear their voices ringing. _Freak, freak, freak!_

Aiden ran straight to the Anderson house. Dean rushed after him, but an invisible wall stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't even get into the clearing. _No, no, no,_ he thought. He knew what was coming, knew it was just a memory and that he had no way of stopping it, but still everything in him screamed at him to do _something_ , don't let that kid into that house!

But Aiden went inside. Spirits jostled about the clearing and among the trees, seeming to seethe with anticipation. Where was Logan? Dean wondered frantically. If he was here— _had_ been here, he could've stopped this! Where the hxll was he?

Somewhere inside the house, there was a terrible, creaking groan. Then a sickening snap followed by a crash as the roof collapsed, and Dean knew it was all over. Aiden was gone.

In the deafening silence, Dean watched numbly, his heart twisting as he waited for the memory to dissolve. But it didn't. The seconds dragged on, with no movement but the rustling leaves. Even the spirits seemed frozen.

Then Dean's breath caught as a figure appeared in the doorway. The blacked out silhouette of a child.

 _Aiden._

Then light shattered the world and Dean's eyes flew open.

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	6. House of Shadows

**Meant to have this done two days ago, but it turned into a super long chapter (that is still going!) so I broke it up. This is the one half, the rest is in the next chapter, which will hopefully be the last, but who knows I might have to split that one too :P**

 **By far, this chapter has been the most fun to write, so I hope you enjoy reading it!**

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"You got the extra shells?"

"Yeah."

"What about those iron pokers?"

"For the third time, Dean, yeah, I got the iron pokers." Sam reached into the duffle bag and pulled out the two metal rods for his brother to see, then dropped them back in. "Not the first time we've hunted a ghost, you know."

"First polter-psyche we've ever hunted, though," Dean pointed out. He frowned as he double-checked the shotgun in his hands, then shook his head. "That's really not catching on, is it?"

"No, not at all," Sam said frankly.

"Well, what _should_ we call it?" Dean asked. He cast a skeptical glance at their salt supply.

"Ganked and gone, that's what I'd prefer," Sam sighed, tossing a few loose shotgun shells into the bag. "But how about just 'Aiden'?"

Dean removed the shotgun that was propping open the weapons cache, moved to leave it in the trunk, then thought better of it and put it in the duffle. "What if we run into another ghost-psychic?" he said. "We gonna call that one 'Aiden,' too?"

"Honestly Dean, I don't think we're ever going to see another one of these things," Sam said. "But if we do, you can call it whatever you want."

Sam shouldered the duffle bag and Dean slammed the trunk. They were each holding a shotgun—the spares, since the other two were lost in the woods—and they were ready to use them.

After the psychic-ghost-dream-memory-vision-trip, they'd jolted awake to discover two things. One, they had seen the exact same vision. And two, they were now outside the Hall house, sprawled on the front lawn. Apparently Aiden liked to kick people out of his clubhouse after knocking them out, Dean had thought, as it was the second time the Winchesters had woken up in a different place than where they'd fallen unconscious. Before they'd had time to sort out what the heck had just happened—and more importantly, where the heck Logan had gone—they'd noticed a woman peeking out the window at them. Susan Hall had looked understandably frightened at the sight of the two men lying on her front lawn, and they'd decided to scram before she called the cops.

Now they were standing just outside the woods, around where they'd left the Impala the night before. They were loaded down with every ghost-repelling trick, tool, and weapon that they had, and they were geared up and ready to go a few rounds with Casper and whoever else showed up to the party. Dean saw the resolve in his brother's face and knew that they were finally on the same page. No more research. Time to take action.

"Well," Dean said, exhaling slowly. Sam looked at him solemnly, probably waiting for some chick-flick pep talk to spur them on their heroic way. Well, Dean had always been more of a lighten-the-mood kind of guy. Waving toward the forest, he cracked a smile and said, "Ladies first."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. "You know that _does_ get old?" he said, but he loped off towards the woods anyway.

"Doesn't stop you from going first every time," Dean smirked, following.

Sam ignored him, adjusting the duffel bag's strap on his shoulder. "Do you even know how to get to this place?" he asked.

"No, I left my haunted house compass back at the car," Dean said, trudging through leaves. "But considering we found it in the pitch black and pouring rain last time, I don't think we'll have too much of a problem."

Sam glanced back at him. "Yeah, I guess the real problem will be getting into the house once we get there."

"You think we'll see any of those shadow-people, er, uh, spirits?" Dean said. He peered around warily, half-expecting to see some of the dark figures watching them from the trees.

"Unless you've suddenly developed psychic powers in the last half-hour, I think we're good."

"So we're definitely going with the whole 'shadow-people are just spirits when they're invisible' explanation?"

Dean, watching his brother's back, saw Sam shrug as he said, "I guess."

"Why do you think there are so many of them?" Dean prodded, resisting the urge to poke Sam in the back.

Sam just shrugged again.

"Makes you wonder how many ghosts are really out there," Dean mused. Sam grunted in taciturn agreement.

A moment passed, and Dean asked, "Did you ever see them?"

Sam stopped and looked back, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Did you ever, you know, _see dead people?_ " Dean asked, wondering vaguely why he hadn't referenced _The Sixth Sense_ before now. "Back when you were trippin' out on psychic demon powers?"

"Nope." Sam turned and started walking again.

"Oh. Well, uh, good." Dean jogged to catch up. "You think those others spirits we saw had something to do with Aiden's death? They didn't exactly seem harmless in the dream, or memory, or whatever."

"I was wondering about that," Sam said, seeming relieved at the change of subject. "In the vision Logan said that the shadows told him about the Anderson place. And then the spirits were all standing around watching when Aiden was killed. It's hard to think they aren't involved somehow. Whether they planned all this out and are still influencing Aiden and Logan, I don't know, but it's obvious there's more going on here than we thought."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, cuz a super psychic-ghost and his angry twin brother wasn't complicated enough."

Sam tipped his head in a ' _tell me about it'_ sort of way.

"So let me make sure I've got all this straight," Dean said, irritably shaking off a branch of thorns. "Psychic twins see dead people. Dead people with unknown intentions lead them to the Anderson house. A bunch of kids make fun of one of said twins, who gets upset and goes to the Anderson house, where invisible spirits may or may not have collapsed the roof on him, but either way he ends up dead. Now ghost twin and psychic brother are getting revenge on the jerk kids, which may or may not be what the spirits wanted all along. Did I miss anything?"

"Yeah, you skipped all the 'what the heck is going on here,'" Sam said dryly. "Other than that, I think you covered it all."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, everything they still didn't know running laps in Dean's head. What was the deal with all the spirits hanging around the Anderson place? What did they want? How much were they involved? Would the hunters even be able to get into the house this time? If they did, what would they find? And how the heck were they going to save those kids? The questions nagged at Dean, but he shoved them aside. He didn't have the answers and neither did Sam, so there was no point asking and no point worrying. All he could do was make sure his shotgun was loaded and push forward.

And all too soon (but hopefully not too late), they reached the clearing. The Anderson house, foreboding and dilapidated as ever, loomed before them. Clouds drifting over the sun stole what little light pierced the treetops, lending the scene an extra degree of creepy. The forest was eerily quiet.

Dean glanced around. No ghost boy waiting to toss them out. No shadow-people lurking in the trees. No sign of spirits at all, in fact. But if Dean had learned anything as a hunter, it was that looks could be deceiving. Most likely the freaks, creeps, and killers were already inside.

Dean tightened his grip on the shotgun. Best not to keep them waiting.

Exchanging a glance with Sam, he stepped into the clearing. Relief that he wasn't immediately thrown back quickly turned to unease as the temperature plummeted from 'oven' to 'refrigerator.' The hunters' breath fogged in front of them, a freakishly unnatural sight on what should've been a hot summer day. _Well, that's not creepy at all._

They reached the house unchallenged, and Dean wasn't entirely sure it was a good thing. On the plus side, it meant this was going to be fractionally easier than he'd thought. On the down side, it meant the spirits' attention was likely focused elsewhere: the kids.

Dean looked at his brother. "You ready for this?" he said, voice low.

"Not really," Sam replied, expression tense but determined. "You?"

Dean pumped the shotgun. "Not at all."

And he opened the door.

00000000000

Sam held his breath as the door creaked loudly on its hinges. He exhaled only when it was obvious that nothing was going to jump out at them. Shotgun held ready, he followed Dean inside.

They moved cautiously, floorboards groaning ominously beneath them as they crept through a water-warped foyer. The grimy windows admitted little light, and the hunters were forced to use their flashlights. Dust was everywhere. It carpeted the ground, smothered the rotting remains of furniture, and floated like snow in the flashlight beams. For a house that had sat abandoned in the woods for so long and been demolished at one point, Sam was actually surprised by its relatively good condition. Though he still didn't like the looks of the sagging ceiling, or the brittle beams supporting it.

Halfway down the hall, the door slammed shut behind them. Sam and Dean whirled around, aiming flashlights and shotguns. No one—and nothing—was there.

"Maybe…it was just the wind?" Dean whispered hopefully. Neither of them believed it. In their line of work, it was never _just the wind_.

They peeled their eyes from the door and reluctantly continued down the hall. They came to a flight of stairs but didn't even bother seeing where they led. For one thing, the stairs didn't look capable of supporting a ladybug, much less a couple of men. And for another, Dean's flashlight had just found a trail of footprints leading farther into the house. They followed the dusty path into the kitchen—or what was left of it—right up to a door that had to be either the basement or the pantry. Given the circumstances—and the Winchesters' luck—they were inclined to believe it was the former.

Sam saw the look in Dean's eye and knew exactly what he was thinking, because Sam was thinking the same thing: _Why's it always the basement?_

They approached the door and the frigid temperature plunged to Arctic. Sam was already shivering, his fingers starting to go numb. How the heck had those kids survived this? _Had_ they survived it?

Dean stashed his flashlight and gripped the doorknob. He looked at Sam with a questioning nod. _You ready?_

Sam slipped his own flashlight into his pocket—the dusky light was barely sufficient to see by, but their eyes would adjust and Sam would need both hands to shoot accurately. He unzipped the duffel bag halfway, making the contents more accessible, then looked at Dean. Seeing his own trepidation reflected in his brother's eyes, Sam nodded. _Do it._

The door swung inward, surprisingly quiet. A set of gnarled wooden stairs descended into total darkness before them.

As Dean moved to go down, two thoughts ran through Sam's head. The first: _maybe we're gonna need those flashlights after all._ The second: _those stairs are gonna creak like a—_

Dean put one foot down and the step released a piercing squeal of protest. Both hunters cringed. They may as well have set off a flare and shouted _here we are, come and get us!_ into a megaphone.

Several intense seconds of nothing happening passed. Something wasn't right. Someone, _something,_ should've heard that, should've attacked by now. But there was nothing but dead silence and cold.

Sam didn't like it at all. They had no idea what they were walking into. And what if they'd been wrong about everything? What if the missing kids weren't even here, what if Logan and Aiden were keeping them somewhere else? What if they _were_ here, and the hunters were already too late?

Dean started forward again, and Sam stepped down behind him. Which was of course when the door slammed shut and they found themselves flying down the stairs.

Sam's back slammed into a wall, the air whacked from his lungs as his head smacked straight into solid concrete. His vision exploded into stars, and for a moment he wasn't sure he was still conscious. When the ringing clatter of the iron rods slipping from the duffel bag sent daggers of pain stabbing through his head, he almost wished he _were_ unconscious. He hung there, red-hot intensity driving through the back of his skull, until eventually it faded to a dull sort of throb and he remembered to breathe.

He heard Dean gasping on the wall beside him. _Oh good, Dean's still alive_ , Sam thought dizzily. Then, _I guess we're in the right place after all._

Whatever force held them pinned vanished and Sam and Dean hit the floor. Lights flared, white and agonizingly intense. Sam fumbled blindly with the shotgun he'd somehow managed not to drop, but he couldn't see well enough to know what to shoot at. Then the light receded, the unearthly illumination dimming to paint the basement in a surreal wash of stark grey-tones. Sam's eyes adjusted, and what he saw was like a black-and-white photograph of some morbid horror scene.

Logan was standing in the middle of the basement. His face was devoid of shadow in the strange, pervasive light, and beside him stood Aiden, flickering through several degrees of transparency. The twins wore identical expressions of smug satisfaction.

In the corner huddled a group of deathly pale and motionless kids. Their faces were blank, eyes closed, like they were asleep, or—

"They're not dead."

Sam's eyes flew to Logan.

"They're just sleeping. Aiden had to keep them that way until everyone was here," the boy said. "We were just about to get started before you showed up."

Before Sam could even fully process what he'd just heard, Aiden vanished suddenly. Sam noticed Logan's eyes tracking something as it approached the unconscious children, then, slowly, the children stirred. Sam watched as they opened their eyes and blinked blearily at the boy and the two hunters.

"What—what's going on?" one of the boys asked weakly. Sam realized it was Victor, the first child to go missing. His clothes were filthy, his face drawn. "Where are we?"

Logan smiled, his eyes narrowing maliciously. "It's my clubhouse. Aiden told you all about it, didn't he? You thought he was lying. Ha! You sure were wrong. You were wrong about everything."

"I want to go home!" A girl, Melissa, whimpered.

Logan ignored her. "Anybody hungry?" He pulled out the basket of sandwiches from beneath the stairs and held it out, an innocent gesture so incongruous with the grim situation that it seemed almost comical.

That was when Sam noticed something was nudging him in the side. He looked over, head spinning a bit, to see Dean prodding him, trying to get his attention. Dean slowly pulled a container of salt out of the bag and gave Sam a meaningful look, eyes wide with urgency. He pointed towards the kids, then nodded at the shotgun in Sam's hands. And even though Sam wasn't feeling all too quick at the moment, he still got the message. _Cover me_.

Sam nodded. Dean grabbed an iron poker in his free hand, Sam lifted the shotgun, and together, the hunters leapt up.

Aiden immediately materialized to block their path, but Dean sent him dissolving with a swipe of the poker. Then they were across the room, Dean pouring a salt line around the kids and Sam blasting Aiden away every time he appeared.

"What are you doing?!" Logan shouted angrily. The hunters ignored him. Dean dumped the rest of the salt, completing the circle. They—and the kids—were safe. For the moment.

"You guys okay?" Dean asked them. Mostly he just got frightened stares, but a couple of the kids nodded. They were pale, shivering, and obviously terrified, but none of them seemed too worse for the wear. Sam did a quick head count and found that all five of the missing children were there. No one dead, everyone relatively uninjured. That, at least, was encouraging.

What _wasn't_ encouraging was that Aiden had reappeared next to Logan. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, grim hatred perfectly mirrored on their faces.

"Whatever," Logan said, glaring darkly. "You're all gonna learn anyway. You're all gonna see." The twins' eyes closed simultaneously, and the temperature took another dive. Suddenly an energy, pulsating and potent, radiated out from the twins. Sam could feel it, like invisible waves buffeting him, resonating in his skull and practically vibrating his eyes in their sockets, but Dean and the children seemed oblivious. They were all just watching the twins, confusion etched into their faces.

 _What the hxll was going on?_ Sam thought wildly. _What the hxll were Aiden and Logan—_

Then Sam felt a shift in the energy. It contracted, refining itself into focused tendrils. Like roving tentacles, the strings of energy sought, then _pulled_ at something just beyond the veil of visible reality.

And just like that, they were surrounded.

Shadow-people— _spirits—_ filled the room, crowding everywhere, writhing eagerly, and the only thing Sam could figure was that they had somehow been forced, or allowed, into manifestation by the twins' power. Their dark forms twisted, leaping like shadow before a flame, scores of hidden eyes glaring with malice. They thrummed with what Sam could only think was wicked excitement and sick, evil greed.

A small cluster of the deranged spirits was looming just behind the twins, their shadowed hands extended, clutching at Logan's shoulders. It was almost like they were fueling him, or _feeding_ off him. Sam's head was spinning too fast to tell which.

He caught a glimpse of Dean's face and knew he was no longer the only one tuned into the crazy. Dean looked like he was getting a pretty good view of everything that was happening around them, and did not like what he was seeing at all.

0000000000

Dean did not like what he was seeing at all.

He swung the iron rod at a spirit just beyond the salt line, but the thing barely flickered. Before Dean could pull back, the poker was yanked from his hand and flung clear across the room. Dean probably would've gone with it if Sam hadn't caught him just in time, keeping him from stumbling out of the circle. Dean nodded a quick thanks and Sam released him. The younger Winchester then aimed the shotgun at a few of the spirits and fired several rounds, and although he kept the gun well within the circle so it couldn't be wrenched away, the rock salt shells did no more damage than the iron had.

Dean cursed. They were surrounded by spirits, their weapons were next to useless, and most of their gear was lying way out of reach on the other side of the room.

The hunters exchanged a look. _We are in so much trouble._

Logan and Aiden opened their eyes. The living twin's face looked paler and the shadow of exhaustion hung in his blue gaze, but still he smiled wickedly. "You see?" he said. He was apparently ignoring the Winchesters' attempt to fight off the spirits, as his eyes were fixed on the children. "Aiden told you. He told you about the shadow people. You didn't believe him. You laughed at him. You _killed_ him. It's _your_ fault he's dead. But now you see him, _and_ you can see _them._ Say you can see them!"

A few of the kids flinched at Logan's sudden shout. "We can see them!" they all sobbed.

"Say you were wrong!"

Trembling in fear, the kids complied.

Logan looked at his twin, who grinned and nodded. Logan's own smile returned. "Good," he muttered, seemingly to no one in particular. The spirits latched onto the boy leaned closer, growing darker. Logan shivered, his eyes rolling back for a second, before he blinked and looked back at the cowering children. "Good," he repeated, his face and tone suddenly expressionless. "Now you can pay for what you did."

With that, he joined hands with his brother and their eyes closed once more.

A tremor ran through the house.

Dean's head snapped up. _Oh please no…_

The house shook again, a sound like thunder rumbling around them, dust falling from the ceiling. Then a sickening, squealing groan—the sound of wood beginning to buckle under hundreds of pounds of stress.

 _No, no, no, no…._

Logan and Aiden were going to bring the house down—and not in the good, 'everybody applauding' sort of way.

The kids screamed, more than one scrambling up to run. "Don't move!" Dean barked. He caught Caitlin before she could leave the salt circle. "Stay behind the line! It's the only way those ghosts aren't going to get you." He got a chorus of whimpers in response, but everyone stayed put.

Even as he kept half his attention on the children, Dean's eyes flew around the room, searching for a way out of this impossible situation. The floor shook beneath his feet. If they stayed here, the house would collapse on them and they would die. If they tried to leave, the spirits would do who knew what to them, and they would all die anyway. They were dxmned if they did, dxmned if they didn't. But Dean would be dxmned if he didn't do _something._

His gaze landed on the spirits. The ones leeching off Logan. What were they doing? They seemed entirely focused on the living twin, ignoring Aiden. Why? What were they using Logan for?

Then it hit him. They were _using_ Logan. The way they were hovering around him, holding onto him—there had to be a reason. Logan's whole demeanor had changed just before the twins had started destroying the house, right after the spirits had pressed closer to him. It was like they were telling Logan what to do, like they needed the twins-or more specifically, their power—to get what the spirits wanted. And they seemed to be using Logan to do it. How long had they been surrounding Logan, manipulating him, invisible to all but the psychic? Dean had no idea, but he knew one thing: It was going to stop. _Now._

"Sam!" Dean shouted over the rumble and groan of the house preparing itself to collapse. Sam's eyes were fixed on the splintering ceiling, but at the sound of his brother's voice, he looked down. Dean noticed a slight disorientation in his gaze, a disorientation that he himself was fighting off. They'd both hit the wall pretty hard, and Dean was grateful for the adrenaline that was keeping them from feeling the full-on splitting headache from having their skulls bashed because right now, they really needed to focus.

"Sam," Dean repeated. The urgency in his tone seemed to snap Sam out of his daze. "We have to get Logan away from those spirits. We need to get him behind this line." Dean pointed at the boy, and Sam followed his gaze, his eyes widening with comprehension. He lifted the shotgun and nodded at his brother.

"Go. I'll cover you."

It was a good plan in theory. In reality, not so much. As soon as Dean put one foot over the line he was being torn at by hundreds of shadowy hands, and Sam was forced to drop the gun and make a grab for Dean before the older Winchester could be yanked completely out of the circle.

Dean felt his brother's arms lock under his shoulders, pulling him one way as the spirits' hold on his leg clamped down and pulled him the other. Dean struggled to free himself from the ghosts' death grip, but it was like trying to resist a tornado. He could feel Sam's hold on him slipping, and just when he was sure his brother was about to completely lose his grip, a shot rang out and Dean was hurtling backwards.

He landed hard on top of Sam. He heard the air _whoosh_ from his brother's lungs, but as much as Dean wanted to get up, shock prevented him from doing anything more than gasp for air as his brain scrambled to catch up from almost being torn in half by ghosts to _oh my gosh I'm still alive._

When his leaping heart settled enough for him to think straight, he quickly rolled off of Sam, who immediately sucked in a desperate breath. Vaguely amazed they'd managed to fall inside the circle without crushing any kids, Dean pulled Sam up to sitting with an apologetic grimace. Breathing hard, they glanced around for the source of the gunshot that had just saved Dean's life.

Daniel Russel was holding Sam's shotgun. There was a look of total surprise on his face as he stared at the hunters for a stunned moment. The other kids gazed at him in awe. Then Daniel dropped the weapon like it had bit him and held up his hands guiltily.

"Please don't tell my mom!" he said.

And the look on his face-the way he seemed more terrified of what his mother might do to him than of the fact that he was in a collapsing haunted house—it was so ludicrous that Dean almost busted out laughing. If it weren't for the fact that _they were in a collapsing haunted house_ , he would have. As it were, he managed a quick smile as he picked up the gun and stood.

"Don't worry, kid," he said over the noise. "We make it out of this, you can not tell her yourself."

"Nice shot," Sam added with a cough, impressed.

Daniel grinned sheepishly.

The ceiling cracked loudly above them, reminding them all of the urgency of the situation. The house was still falling down around them and they were still being held captive in a basement by a horde of malevolent spirits.

"Time for plan B?" Sam asked tightly, picking himself up.

Splinters showered down on them and the ghostly light that had been illuminating the basement started to flicker. "Little brother, we are so far past plan B right now it's not even funny," Dean said. He was at a complete loss. Their only hope was getting Logan away from the spirits—and that was more hunch than hope—but they had no way of getting to him.

"You think we could talk him into coming over here?" Dean suggested half-heartedly.

Sam was looking at Logan and Aiden, whose eyes were still closed as they channeled their full concentration into destroying the house.

"We need a distraction," Sam said abruptly.

"What?" Dean asked.

"We have to keep their attention off of us so we can get to Logan."

"Yeah thanks, Sam, I know what a distraction is," Dean snapped. "What I mean is how the hxll are we supposed to do that? No way we can distract all of them."

"Well we have to try, Dean, or we're all gonna die!" Sam shouted.

Dean was taken aback. He paused, considering—if this failed, they'd probably be too busy choking on rubble to come up with a new plan. But Dean trusted his brother. He nodded. "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

A sound like several trees breaking in half boomed overhead. Sam took a deep breath, looking like he was trying to convince himself of something, then held out a hand. "Give me the gun," he said. When Dean hesitated, he said exasperatedly, "I'm not gonna do anything stupid, Dean. I'm gonna try to keep Logan's attention on me. The spirits are all focused on him, right? If I get him to focus on me, maybe they will too."

"Maybe?" Dean said, raising an eyebrow dubiously.

"Just give me the gun, Dean," Sam repeated firmly. "And be ready to move."

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 **If you're reading this, thanks a trillion for sticking with the story! I'll try to have the next chapter up faster than usual (hopefully before Wednesday-ish). That should be the last chapter.**

 **If there's anything in this chapter that doesn't make sense or if there's anything that was left unexplained, let me know. Most likely the answers will be coming in the next chapter, but I might miss something because honestly I fried my brain re-reading this chapter and what I have of the next trying to make sure I didn't leave anything out.**

 **All reviews welcome, and thanks so much for reading!**


	7. Escape

**Sorry, short chapter. And, unfortunately, not the last. (Sigh). Oh well, hope this ain't too bad.**

 **Also, this story is definitely season three. What year was season three from, anyway? Hopefully sometime after Iron Man was filmed, or else Sam and Dean's aliases in this story make no sense :P**

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Sam reloaded the shotgun, dread making the weapon heavy in his hands. If this didn't work, Dean would be killed trying to get to Logan, and they would all die right here in this basement, buried under tons of debris.

 _No pressure._

Sam spared a moment they probably didn't have to steel himself, then, taking a deep breath, he faced the twins. He held the shotgun ready but didn't aim.

"Logan!" He called.

The boy didn't respond. Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him as he raised his voice, shouted, "Logan! I know you can hear me! I need you to listen."

He thought he saw the boy's face twitch and took that as a sign he was listening, if only slightly.

"I know why you're doing this," Sam said. "I know you're mad about what happened to your brother, and you want to help him get revenge. But it's not going to change anything. Even if you bring this whole house down, he'll still be gone, and he's not going to come back."

Logan's eyes snapped open. The trembling house quieted slightly, the waves of energy that had been blasting from the twins weakening as Logan turned his gaze on the younger Winchester.

"He doesn't have to come back," Logan said, his voice strangely empty. He pointed at the crumbling ceiling. "I'm going to _him_. We can be together on the other side."

Sam shouted desperately, "Look at what you're doing! This house is coming down. We're all going to die. Aiden wouldn't want you to kill yourself for him!"

Logan's brow furrowed, and the look of confusion copied itself on Aiden's face as the ghost listened to the conversation. The spirits surrounding them began to quiver angrily.

"But Aiden told me this is how we could be together," Logan said with a tinge of uncertainty.

"Logan, you're about to _kill yourself,_ " Sam said. "Aiden's your brother. He'd never tell you to do something like this. It's those spirits, the shadows-they're the ones that wanted this, and they've been using both of you to get it. Don't listen to them, Logan. Don't give them what they want."

The spirits practically buzzed with anger, and Sam felt a wave of heat surge across the room as the shadows directed every bit of their malice towards him. The salt line was the only thing holding it back, but Sam could sense the dark energy straining against it. Terrifying as it was, the plan was working. He now had the spirits' full attention. He glanced at Dean. _Get ready_.

"They deserve this!" Logan shouted suddenly, jabbing a finger at the children. The spirits had doubled their efforts to control the boy and the doubt that moments ago had managed to leak through was gone. Both Aiden and Logan now wore masks of fury, and the house shook more violently than ever as their voices joined into one and they yelled, " _They have to pay for what they did! They all have to die!"_

That was when Dean leapt over the salt line and tore across the room. Sam's heart shot into his throat, but with the spirits' focus divided three ways into controlling the twins, demolishing the house, and still trying to microwave Sam, by the time they reacted Dean had already snatched up Logan and was booking it back to the safety of the salt circle. The shadows swarmed forward, but Sam held them back with several blasts from the shotgun, and then Dean was hurtling back into the circle.

As soon as Logan was over the salt line, the basement went dark. The heat pressing at Sam vanished, and the tide of energy rocking the house abated. The children screamed, then everything was quiet.

"Dean!" Sam said.

A flashlight clicked on, and his brother's face appeared before him. Dean looked mildly amazed. A hesitant grin played on his lips. "Did that actually just work?" he asked.

Sam released a breath and a short, shaky laugh of relief. "Yeah," he said, heart still pounding. "I think it actually did."

Dean roved the flashlight beam around the basement. He searched every inch and corner, but the room was empty. The spirits were gone. "Great," Dean said. "Now tell me what the hxll just happened."

The hunters froze as something shifted in the house above them, followed by several snaps and an ominous groan. Sam and Dean looked at each other, all trace of lightheartedness vanishing. The spirits were no longer destroying the house, but they'd pushed it to the brink, and now it looked like the house was going to tear itself down.

"What say we figure that out _after_ we get out of here?" Sam suggested, ducking instinctively at another round of splintering cracks.

"Great plan," Dean agreed. He pointed the flashlight at Logan. "One problem."

The boy was huddled on the floor, eyes half-lidded and dazed, blood trickling from his nose. The other kids edged away from him warily.

Dean said, "We take him out of the circle, those spirits are gonna be all over him again."

Sam cursed. Dean was right. If they tried to get Logan out of here, the spirits would take control again and kill them all. They were almost right back where they'd started. Only difference: the house wasn't coming down quite so fast.

"Look Sam, maybe…" Dean hesitated, but rushed on as the house continued to fall apart above them. "Maybe you should take the other kids, get them out of here. I'll stay with Logan. You come back once they're safe and we can figure a way out of this."

Sam glared at him. "I'm not leaving you here, Dean."

"It might be the only chance we have of anyone getting out of here alive," Dean snapped. The ceiling boards cracked, jagged edges of wood stabbing downward. "Just get out while there's still-"

"I'm not leaving you here!" Sam shouted. Before Dean could protest, Sam knelt down in front of Logan. There was another way out of this. He just had to find it.

"Logan. Hey, Logan." He patted the boy's cheek, trying to rouse him. Logan blinked drowsily, almost like he was waking up. Whatever thrall the spirits had had over him had apparently broken the instant Logan entered the protection of the salt circle, but he still seemed a bit out of it. Slowly, his eyes focused on Sam. Logan stared blankly for a moment, then a look of pure terror flooded his expression and he began to flail wildly.

"No!" Logan screamed, eyes squeezed shut. "No! Keep them away, don't let them get me! No!"

Sam grabbed his arms and held him down. "Logan, calm down. We're not gonna hurt you."

"No!" Logan gasped. "The shadows, they're everywhere, they're gonna get me!"

Sam glanced around automatically, then realized that even though the room was empty to him, to the psychic it must still be filled with angry spirits. "They can't get you, Logan," Sam said, trying to keep his voice calm despite the ceiling buckling over their heads. "You're safe here."

Logan slowly stopped struggling and cautiously opened his eyes. Apparently realizing he was in no immediate danger from the spirits, he settled down a bit. He looked at Sam, fear and confusion written all over his features. "What happened?" he asked shakily. "Where's Aiden?"

"He's fine," Sam instantly reassured him, wondering where the ghost boy was if Logan couldn't see him.

"But the spirits, they might hurt him," Logan protested. "They were using us, they were making us do things, and-"

"We know, Logan," Sam cut him off. "But there's no time for that right now. The house is going to collapse, and we need a way out of here."

As if to emphasize what he'd said, a sound like the walls upstairs starting to cave in shuddered through the dark basement. Whatever miracle was holding the house upright wasn't going to last much longer.

"Sam…" Dean said, a warning in his voice.

Sam ignored him, keeping his gaze on the boy before him. Fear and exhaustion weighed heavily in Logan's eyes, but it was still the most grounded Sam had seen him. How long had those spirits been messing with the kid's mind? Sam shook the question away—he could worry about that later. At the moment, Logan was free. That was what mattered now. That, and not dying.

He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We can't get you past the spirits, Logan," he said, "but if we don't move soon, none of us are going to make it. Is there any way-"

Sam broke off as Logan's eyes widened. "Aiden!" the boy said, staring over Sam's shoulder.

Sam turned, and Dean raised the flashlight to reveal Aiden standing just on the other side of the salt line, looking down at his twin with a lost expression. Logan tried to scramble up, but Sam held him back, unsure of the ghost's intentions.

"It's okay, he can help us!" Logan said. His eyes were pleading, and after a heartbeat, Sam released him. The boy rushed to his brother but stopped before crossing the line of salt.

Sam stood and watched as the twins talked to each other, whatever they were saying lost in the noise of the crumbling house.

Dean was throwing mistrustful glances at them in between making sure the other kids were up and ready to move. "So now Aiden's gonna _help_ us?" he muttered dubiously. "A minute ago, he was trying to kill us."

"A minute ago, they were _both_ trying to kill us," Sam pointed out. "Progress, Dean."

"Progress my foot," Dean said. "How do we know the spirits aren't using Aiden right now, huh? He lures Logan out, they'll finish the job…"

A beam split right above Dean and Sam pushed him down just in time. Doubled over, Dean stared up at the jagged chunk of lumber now protruding from the ceiling right where his head had just been.

"Okay," Dean gulped. "Never mind. I'll take my chances with Casper."

"Good call," Sam said, clapping his brother on the back and shifting his gaze to the twins. "Logan? How we doing on that escape plan?"

Dust showered down as Logan turned back to the group. "We can go now," he said, eyes bright in the flashlight beam. "Aiden's gonna hold back the shadows. He won't let them get me. But he says we have to hurry."

0000000000000

"Well we weren't planning to take the scenic route," Dean quipped as he quickly rounded up the kids. The noise overhead was now continuous, the house making every possible creak, groan, and snap before the final crash.

Dean shoved the flashlight at Sam. "Take this, you're leading. Everybody, follow Sam. Logan, you're with me." Dean could tell Sam wasn't happy about that arrangement, but Dean and Logan going last made the most sense—if the spirits managed to take control of Logan again, then the others had a better chance of escaping by being in front of the group.

There was a brief moment of shifting inside the circle as everyone positioned themselves—the kids crowding around Sam while Logan and Dean moved to the back—and then Dean was shouting at them to move as chunks of the ceiling started raining down. The whole group made it to the stairs without being psychically thrown against a wall, and even though Aiden was no longer visible he must have been doing his job because Logan didn't so much as flinch when he left the protection of the salt circle. Dean snagged the duffle bag on the way out—two shotguns were enough supplies to lose for one hunt.

The ground floor was almost unrecognizable: debris was everywhere, the walls and ceiling caving, everything cracking and shifting dangerously under the weight of gravity. The kids stumbled over warped floorboards, and Sam and Dean hurried to pull them to their feet and keep everybody moving.

Then Sam was flinging open the front door and the kids were streaming out. Dean's eyes were locked on the daylight— _so close, almost there_ —when Aiden's voice yelled from behind, _"Look out!"_ and Logan faltered in front of him and fell to his knees. Dean almost tripped over him but reeled back as a horde of shadows materialized around Logan, their hands clutching at Logan's back. A sudden shock wave radiated out, shaking the floor and bringing down a section of the ceiling right in front of them, barring the way to the door.

Dean could hear Sam shouting for him but was too preoccupied dodging a piece of falling debris to respond, and then his only thought was getting Logan the hxll out of there. The boy was doubled over, frantically shaking his head as though that would somehow get the spirits off of him. Dean tried to reach for him and a falling hunk of lumber nearly took his hand off, smashing straight through to the basement.

"Aiden!" Dean yelled desperately as the floorboards tilted under his feet. Where the hxll was he, he was supposed to be keeping these things back!

Aiden appeared as though Dean's call had summoned him. He was pale and flickering weakly, expression jumping frighteningly from scared to hateful as he seemed to struggle internally even as his brother struggled to shake off the spirits. Then Aiden's face hardened to steely determination and he reached down and took Logan's hand.

The spirits vanished immediately, and Dean was able to leap over the hole in the floor without anything being psychically dropped on his head. He crouched beside Logan and the ghost; the living twin's nose was bleeding freely now, but otherwise he seemed okay. He responded quickly when Dean started pushing him toward a hole in the wall of debris blocking the way to the door, and Aiden helping to guide him along.

Once they were through Dean shoved the duffle bag in and crawled after it. Sam's hand appeared to pull him through and help him to his feet on the other side. They ran together, the house falling down around them as they burst through the front door.

* * *

 **Next chapter will most definitely be the last, so stay tuned! Coming soon: Sam and Dean burning down a house and a nice bit of resolution to finally wrap this story up. If you're considering leaving a review, please please please please do, I'd love to hear from you. If you have already reviewed, thanks a bazillion! That goes for the peoples that are following too, and the person who favorited, and you know what, all you great people who gave this story the time of day :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hope you have a ton of pancakes lying around, cuz this chapter gets sappy! (you know, cuz sap makes syrup, and syrup goes on pancakes…yeah. You get it.) Sorry for the long wait on this one! Oh yeah, and most definitely season three. Kindly ignore anything in the rest of the story that doesn't fit with that :)P.S.: Please forgive the** ** _deus ex machina_** **in this chapter—it had to be done.**

* * *

The house didn't collapse the instant they cleared the door like it would have in the movies. Dean was only slightly disappointed by this—it would've been pretty cool—but seeing as it had been a close enough call without that effect, he wasn't too upset. He and Sam caught their breath at a safe distance and watched as the walls finally gave out, splintering to the ground in a raucous clatter that split through the woods, amplified and echoing in the trees. A plume of dust billowed up when the roof fell in, then rose lazily to haze out the evening sky.

Dean stared at the bones of the Anderson house lying crumpled before him and was surprised by the sudden calm. His pounding heart started to slow as it caught up to the fact that they were out of imminent danger, and the fading adrenaline rush left him feeling giddy with relief. They had all made it out alive. The house was destroyed, the spirits were gone. It was over.

Then he caught a glimpse of Logan's face and knew that it wasn't _all_ over. The other kids were staring blankly at the house, shell-shocked and silent, but Logan was backing away fearfully, his eyes darting all over the clearing. Dean didn't have to be a psychic to know the kid was still seeing shadows, and from the way he was panicking, they were probably everywhere. Aiden was back by his twin's side, standing a protective half-step in front of him, but he looked just as overwhelmed as Logan. Dean didn't know exactly what threat the spirits posed now that they no longer had a house to drop on their heads, but he wasn't about to wait around and find out; knowing his luck, they'd probably take Logan over again and bring the whole forest down.

A quick rummage through the duffel bag produced a couple canisters of gasoline and one of salt. Sam caught on, and after stowing the flashlight and shotgun he took some of the gasoline. Leaving the kids at the edge of the woods, the Winchesters quickly doused the remains of the house. Logan and Aiden grew even more agitated, and Dean guessed he and Sam were on the right track—those spirits, whoever they were, were for whatever reason attached to this house and were probably not too happy that it was about to go up in flames.

When they finished, Sam kept an anxious eye on the twins while Dean struck a couple matches. He let them fall onto the gasoline-soaked remains and the fire caught with a quick burst that rapidly spread over the ruins, licking at the dry wood. The hunters retreated from the heat and returned to the kids to watch as the house was consumed in flame. A wave of smoky warmth rolled over them, erasing the unnatural chill in the air with a feeling of finality.

"They're gone."

Logan's hushed words were so quiet that Dean almost missed them amid the crackle of the burning house. Logan was staring in shock, but even as Dean watched, his expression turned to profound relief. A smile broke out on his face—a _real_ smile, not the smirk or cold grin that had twisted his features before—and a weight seemed to fall from his shoulders. Logan beamed at his twin, his joy reflected in Aiden's face.

But as quickly as it had come, the smile faded. Logan looked at Aiden as though seeing him for the first time, finally taking in the paleness, the transparency, the clothing torn in memory of death.

"Aiden..." He choked on his brother's name, eyes wide. He looked stunned. "You're…No…" His mouth worked, struggling to find words, until he finally choked out, "I'm sorry."

Dean was confused, but Aiden seemed to understand. The ghost shook his head, smiling sadly.

 _It's not your fault._ Aiden was back to telepathically projecting his voice. A few of the kids stiffened, tearing their gaze from the fire to look apprehensively at the ghost. _None of it's your fault._

"Yes it is. It all is," Logan insisted wretchedly. "I'm the one who listened to the shadows when they told me about this place. I brought you here; it's my fault that you…that you're…" he sniffed angrily, tears slipping from his eyes, but he went on. "And after…It was my fault the spirits took over. I was the one who was mad. I wanted revenge, and the shadows told me how to get it."

He looked desperately between Sam and Dean, begging them to understand. "They never would've taken over if it hadn't been for me. Aiden didn't want to do anything they said, but he went along with it because I did, and then the shadows took over completely and we couldn't fight them. They didn't let us even _want_ to fight them. They just kept _using_ me to get Aiden to do what they wanted. You can't be mad at him—it's all my fault.

The kid looked so heart-wrenchingly miserable, Dean had no idea what to say. Luckily, Sam did.

"We're not mad at either of you," the younger Winchester said. "Aiden's right. None of what happened is your fault. Those spirits tricked you and took over your minds so they could use your powers. If you want to blame anyone, blame them."

"But why did they want to use us?" Logan sniffed.

"They were just…evil," Sam said. He didn't sound or look convinced; Dean could tell he was itching to do some research and figure out who those spirits had been and what they'd been doing attached to the Anderson house, but for now Sam was giving Logan the answers he needed in order to understand and accept what had happened. "They weren't strong enough to do what they wanted themselves, so they used you and Aiden. Since you're so attuned to spirits, it would've been easy for them to take control. Even if you'd refused, they probably would've found a way to take over anyway."

Aiden nodded in agreement, trying to reassure his twin. _It doesn't matter now anyway,_ the ghost intoned. _It's all over._

Logan's tears didn't stop, but he did manage a watery smile as he took Aiden's hand.

Dean shared an uncertain look with Sam. Much as he wished it was, it wasn't _all_ over. Not yet. They still had one Casper-the-recently-unfriendly ghost to take care of.

Before he could even begin to figure out how to broach the subject, Aiden and Logan turned to the group of kids. They'd been silent since they'd escaped the house, and Dean realized guiltily that he'd almost forgotten about them. Turning his full attention on them, he was more than a little concerned with what he saw. The kids were all pale, dirty, and exhausted. Most of them had slumped to the ground, hugging their knees as they stared vacantly at the burning house.

Dean was no expert on children, but he knew enough to realize that a group of seven year olds wasn't supposed to be this quiet. They were clearly traumatized, and they barely reacted when Aiden and Logan approached.

"We're sorry for what we did to you," Logan said. Aiden nodded somberly in agreement.

The kids didn't seem to hear him.

"I want to go home," Caitlin whispered. The others just stared.

Logan smiled hesitantly. "Aiden can help with that," he said, and he looked at his twin.

Aiden reached out and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. Sam and Dean started forward in alarm, but Logan waved them off. "It's okay. He's not gonna hurt her. He's just gonna take her home."

Dean watched, dumbfounded, as the ghost disappeared, Caitlin going with him. "He can do that now?" Dean asked incredulously as the ghost reappeared and went on to the next kid.

"Yeah," Logan said. Despite his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained face, he still managed to convey a look that clearly said, _obviously._

Dean didn't know whether to grin or reach for the rock salt. It was freakin' eerie, the way the ghost boy was just materializing and vanishing with a new kid in tow. This being the ghost who had kidnapped them all in the first place, then tried to kill them, Dean felt his reluctance to trust Aiden was justified.

"So, what, just 'poof' and they're home?" he asked. He watched Aiden blink out with another kid. "Why didn't he just do that before when he was taking them all in the first place?"

"He wasn't strong enough before," Logan explained patiently. "He just figured it out today. That's how he got Daniel here."

"Wait," Sam cut in. "This might not be such a good idea. You can't just teleport them home without people asking questions. We didn't get a chance to come up with a cover story. How are we supposed to explain this to their parents?"

"It's okay," Logan answered simply.

"But Logan, if they tell people what happened, you'll be in huge trouble. Even if no one believes the whole ghost story part, they'll be curious enough to come asking what you had to do with all this."

"Aiden will take care of it," the boy replied mysteriously.

By now only Clark was left, and Aiden soon reappeared to take him home. When the ghost came back, he smiled up at the hunters.

"You want to enlighten us as to how you're magically gonna keep the police from marching down here and interrogating your brother?" Dean asked.

Aiden's smile widened. _They won't remember he had anything to do with it,_ he said. _They won't remember any of it._

"What?" Sam choked.

"He wiped their memories," Logan said, copying his twin's grin with a touch of pride. Sam and Dean just stared, speechless.

It took a moment of dumbfounded blinking before Dean managed, "Sure, why not?"

Aiden and Logan laughed. _I left them on their front porches,_ Aiden explained, his projected voice tinged with laughter. _When they go in, their parents will just think they came home from running away, like the police thought._

"You don't think they aren't going to find it strange that their kids don't remember where they've been for the past few days?" Sam said.

"Sure, but at least they won't know that we had anything to do with it," Logan grinned.

Dean met Sam's gaze and shrugged helplessly. It was far from a perfect solution, but it was probably better than any cover story they could've come up with. Dean pictured dropping the kids off at the police station and trying to explain what had happened. _Uh, yes, officer, my partner and I were just going for a stroll in the woods when we came across this abandoned house that the missing children happened to be hiding out in, so after we burned it down—cuz, you know, why the heck not?—we gave 'em a ride and here they are!_ He shook the scene away. Yeah, this way was definitely better. They'd just have to split before anyone came asking questions.

Logan's laughter cut off, drawing Dean out of his thoughts. "Oh no," Logan said. "Mom's gonna be so mad if I don't get home soon!" He looked at his twin with an expression of horror that only the potential wrath of an angry mother could elicit. "Come on, you gotta take us back before she notices I'm gone."

"Logan, wait," Sam said. He held a hand out to stop them. It wasn't necessary, because instead of reaching out to take Logan's hand to transport them home, Aiden took a step back. The merriment from earlier vanished.

Logan blinked, confused. "What…what are you doing?"

Aiden smiled at him sadly for a moment, then turned to the hunters. Dean saw it in his eyes that the ghost knew he couldn't go home with his brother-it was time for him to move on, and Aiden was ready.

Logan questioningly followed Aiden's gaze.

"What's going on?" his voice trembled. Neither Winchester had time to reply before comprehension dawned painfully in the boy's eyes. He whipped back to look at his brother. "No. Aiden, you can't…" He swallowed hard and whispered, "You can't leave."

Aiden just gazed sadly back.

"Logan…" Sam started.

The boy shook his head. "No. He's not leaving. He's staying with me. He doesn't have to go."

He moved forward to take his twin's hand, but this time his fingers passed straight through him. Aiden's form flickered, the hand Logan had touched momentarily turning to mist. Logan stared numbly.

Aiden touched his face gently and waited for Logan to meet his eyes.

 _Look at me,_ the ghost said. _I'm already gone._

Logan trembled. "No," he choked. "You're not. No one's ever really gone. Remember?"

Aiden shook his head. _That's what the shadows said. They lied to us. And look where that got them._ He let his hand fall and glanced at the burning house. _Look where that got all of us._

Logan blinked away tears, hurt shining in his eyes. "So, what? You want to leave me?"

 _No. Of course not. But I can't—I shouldn't…_ He floundered, at a loss for how to explain.

"It wouldn't be right for him to stay," Sam broke in quietly. "For either of you."

Aiden gave him an appreciative look. Logan dropped his gaze.

 _Please, Logan. You have to understand. For me._

At that Logan met his eyes. He took a shuddering breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. But he nodded.

Dean would've been skeptical of the boy's sudden acceptance had it not been for what they'd just gone through. The kid had seen and dealt with death his whole life—he knew what it was like for spirits kept on the wrong side of the veil. They were trapped, angry, unwilling to let go or be let go of, unable to move on, spending years trying to effect the living or to just be _seen_ before they eventually faded into nothingness. For Aiden, it was worse; to be corrupted into doing terrible things, subject to the whim of evil, twisted entities, powerless to stop himself from hurting the ones he loved…that was no way to exist. Whatever waited beyond death, if there was even the slightest chance it was better than this ghostly misery, Aiden should take it. Logan should _let_ him take it.

Because sometimes, it was just better to let go and move on.

Logan sniffed, his eyes glued to Aiden's face. The two seemed to share one of those wordless conversations that were the secret language of brothers before Logan finally nodded again. He took his twin's hand. It didn't dissolve this time, and the boy seemed to draw strength from it.

"How do I…" he started uncertainly. "How does he…" Logan trailed off, looking imploringly at the hunters.

Dean glanced at Sam, his heart twisting as he said, "You just…let him go."

Logan blinked away tears to lock eyes with Aiden. The ghost smiled and pulled the boy into a fierce hug. When Aiden stepped back, he kept hold of Logan's hand. Logan took a long look at his twin, then closed his eyes. He let out a shuddering sigh, his shoulders relaxing, before opening his eyes again.

"Goodbye, Aiden," he whispered.

The ghost was already fading. But to Dean's surprise, Aiden shook his head. His smile quirked mischievously.

"Not goodbye," the spirit said. His voice rang clearly in the air, no longer in their minds. "See you later."

And then he was gone.

Logan's now empty hand fell to his side. "See you later," he whispered. The shadow of a smile flitted across his lips before the tears returned full force and he sank to his knees, gazing emptily at the spot his brother had just been.

For once Dean didn't give a dxmn about avoiding chick-flick moments. He didn't care about showing weakness, or about looking like anything but a stone-cold, grin-through-the-gore hunter. He had been right where Logan was now, facing the realization that his brother was gone and there was nothing he could do about it. It felt like a slap to the face with a semi, a burning cold knife through the heart. It stole your breath and tore you apart.

And he wasn't just gonna let that kid sit there looking like the ground had been ripped out from under him. Letting the duffel bag fall, Dean knelt beside him and put a comforting, if awkward, hand on Logan's shoulder. Dean grimaced, unsure how to help the kid; the whole 'consoling the bereaved' thing was usually Sam's area of expertise.

Dean looked up, half expecting Sam to be smirking at him, but his brother was looking at Logan. His expression was sad, exhausted, and anything but amused. Wordlessly, the younger Winchester sank down next to the boy and simply sat there, his presence in itself an offer of sympathy and solace.

For what could've been minutes, hours, or days, the three sat there, soot-stained and bone weary, listening to the crackle of the fire as the night fell around them.

Without the rush of adrenaline to keep him focused, Dean found his thoughts starting to wander. He kept his hand on Logan's shoulder, but his gaze drifted to the fire. The sight called up memories of another night, another burning house, another loss, but he wouldn't let himself go there. Instead, he let the heat and the smell of smoke take him back to camping trips as a kid, back when their dad would take off on a hunt and leave them at Bobby's. Bobby would grouch at them to gather firewood, then show them how to get a huge blaze going and the three of them would sit around, Sam and Dean throwing the marshmallows they were supposed to be roasting at each other while Bobby snapped at them to quit being idjits long enough for him to tell them a ghost story.

And the ghost stories had always been just that—stories. Bobby had probably had countless hunts he could've told them about, tons of werewolves, witches, and vengeful spirits to terrify them with. But he'd always stuck with the classics, telling his own versions of the 'it was a dark and stormy night' type of tales you were supposed to tell around campfires.

Dean could remember wondering why the old hunter had never told them about actual hunts, real monsters—it would help them prepare, make them better hunters, wouldn't it? But as Dean looked at the burning house, felt Logan shuddering with silent sobs under his hand, the memory of murderous spirits still far too sharp in his mind, he understood. Real hunts, real monsters, real _life,_ were painful. They were messy, confusing, and sometimes straight up _sucked._ Bobby had been trying to spare them from the reality of what their lives would become. He let them enjoy the nonsense of normal stories while they could, because eventually, they'd live their fair share of the real ones.

And oh, how they had.

Sirens blared in the distance.

Dean's head snapped up, dragged from his memories. Time to get out here.

He looked at Sam, expecting him to be reacting to the sirens, but the younger Winchester was spaced out, staring at the fire. Dean wondered if he was remembering camping with Bobby, as Dean had been, and felt a little guilty that he was going to have to ruin the first moment of relative peace they'd had all afternoon. But they couldn't be here when the fire department or police or whoever showed up.

"Sam," Dean said. That was all it took to break the spell. Sam tore his gaze from the fire and looked at Dean. Dean watched the fog of memory evaporate in Sam's eyes as he registered the sirens. He nodded and started to pick himself up.

Dean gave Logan's shoulder a gentle shake. "C'mon, Logan. Let's get you home."

He helped the boy to his feet. Tear tracks on Logan's cheeks glistened in the firelight, but he was no longer crying. He took a last look at the clearing and the burning house. Then he looked up at Dean and simply nodded.

Dean picked up the duffel bag. He placed a hand on Logan's shoulder, and with a glance to make sure Sam was with them, he led them out of the clearing.

0000000000000000

The trek through the woods was made in silence. Logan ended up falling behind Dean so the hunter could focus on finding a path through the trees while Sam took up the rear, making sure Logan was okay. The sirens got louder, but luckily seemed to be approaching from a different direction than they were heading.

Despite the darkness, it didn't take long for Dean to find the edge of the forest, and they were soon back at the Impala. By then the headache he had been managing to ignore was pounding full force, starting as a piercing sting where his skull had made contact with the basement wall and radiating painfully out from there. By the way Sam was wincing every other step, Dean figured he probably wasn't feeling too much better.

All Dean wanted to do was sink down on any semi-decent bed—or heck, the back seat of the Impala would be just fine—and sleep for a century. After a burger, fries, and a couple of beers, of course. Because he was starving. He found himself thinking longingly of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches burning up back at the ruins and wished he'd snagged them on the way out of the basement.

He shook the thought away. That was ridiculous.

 _Great,_ he thought. _I probably have a concussion._ His mind was certainly wandering in that nonsensical sort of way it did when he'd taken one too many hits to the head.

But he forced himself to focus. They still had to get Logan home.

While Sam opened the door for Logan to climb into the back, Dean went to throw the duffel in the trunk. What he saw in the back of his car made him forget all about his headache and hunger. He broke out in a grin.

"Hey Sam," Dean called. "Look what the gun fairy left us."

He held up one of the shotguns they'd lost in the woods the night before. Sam came around to get a better look and his eyes widened. "Is that…"

"Yeah," Dean replied happily, gesturing at the other returned weapon in the trunk. "Both of them."

"Aiden?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow and returning Dean's grin.

"Must've found 'em and put 'em back when he was teleporting the kids home," Dean said. He examined the guns appreciatively. "You know, despite the fact that he tried to kill us, he wasn't such a bad kid."

Sam huffed a laugh. Still grinning, Dean set the gun inside with the duffel bag. He slammed the trunk and started for the driver's seat.

"Dean, wait." Sam was right behind him.

Dean looked back at him in question.

"Are you okay to drive?" Sam asked.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you kind of hit that wall pretty hard," Sam said. He tapped the side of his head. "You might have a concussion."

"Yeah, probably," Dean said. "But no worse than yours. Or did I miss the part where you landed on pillows instead of concrete?"

Sensing this would become an all-night argument, they decided on a different way to settle the matter. A quick game of 'how many fingers am I holding up' ensued. Sam lost, squinting just a little too much and taking just a little too long to count the three digits Dean held up. Sam was left to sulk in the passenger seat and dig through the glove compartment for ibuprofen while Dean took the wheel. He started the engine and told himself the spinning in his head wasn't too bad to be operating a motor vehicle.

Wasn't like it was the first time he'd driven with a concussion.

On the whole trip to Logan's house, the car only left the road twice.

They pulled to a stop on the driveway. The red and blue flashes rotating through the trees kept Dean from going any further; it looked like Mrs. Hall had called the cops after all. And FBI impersonators or not, the police would ask questions that Sam and Dean just could not answer.

He put the car in park and they sat in silence. Logan hadn't said a word during the whole drive. Dean could see him in the rearview mirror slumped against the seat, staring blankly ahead through the windshield while the light across his face alternated red and blue. He didn't look ready to talk, or move at all for that matter, so Dean was surprised when he heard the whispered question.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

Dean shared a look with Sam before they turned in their seats to look back at Logan. To that, Dean didn't have an answer. Logan had just lost his brother, someone who had been a part of him for his entire life. Dean knew what that felt like—knew the raw, gaping hole that it left behind. But he didn't know if it ever got better. If anything ever filled that hole.

But the kid had to start somewhere.

"Right now," Dean said, "you go home. You take care of your mom. She's gonna need you."

"But how can I?" Logan sounded lost. "Without Aiden…"

"You do it _for_ Aiden," Sam said. "You live for him, be happy like he'd want you to be."

Dean allowed a small smile. "And whatever you do, don't listen to the shadows."

Logan's lips twitched in a quick grin, but it didn't last.

"It's gonna suck at first," Dean said softly. "But it'll get better." He hoped he wasn't lying.

"And if you ever need anything," Sam added, "if you ever run into any more spirits, or anything, give us a call."

He handed Logan one of their 'agent' cards.

Logan looked it over, then glanced up with a faint grin. "You guys aren't really FBI, are you?"

Dean smirked. "Not in the slightest."

Logan's smile faded as he glanced off out the window. He seemed to gather himself, then opened the door. He started to get out, then paused and looked back.

"Thanks for…everything," he said.

Dean smiled. "Take care of yourself, kid."

Logan nodded, and with a final look at the two hunters, he climbed out of the car.

Dean watched the boy's dark silhouette grow smaller as it moved down the driveway. It was so much like the one that just last night he'd watched materialize in Caitlin's back yard, and Dean had to suppress the familiar feeling that this job had been yet another failure. Aiden was dead, and Logan would never be the same. The other kids, whether they remembered it or not, would carry the scars from this experience for the rest of their lives.

Yet if Sam and Dean had done nothing, Logan and all those other kids would be dead, their spirits trapped in the Anderson house with the shadows. But they _had_ done something—they saved the kids, destroyed the spirits, and brought Logan home safely—and the world was a little better off because of it.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Sam asked softly, breaking the silence.

Dean had no way of knowing, but something in Logan's purposeful stride as he walked between the trees told him he would be just fine. "Yeah." Dean said. "He'll get through this. He's tougher than he looks."

"It's not just that," Sam admitted. He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes, but Dean could see the haunted look on his face. "With what he can do…how can he ever have a normal life? No one's ever gonna believe him, and if they do they'll just try to use him, like the spirits did. He'll end up in an asylum or right back where we found him—possessed by god knows what and trying to kill people."

A tinge of fear had crept into Sam's voice, and Dean could tell he wasn't just worried about Logan. They'd thought that all the psychic-demon-blood crap had died with Yellow Eyes, but deep down Dean had felt the quiet burn of doubt. The demon's ominous words before Dean killed him in the graveyard still loomed in the back of his mind, and now he knew he wasn't the only one worried that it wasn't all quite over.

But thinking like that only led down a dark road, and Dean wasn't about to let Sam go down it.

Injecting every ounce of confidence he had into his reply, he said, "Logan's gonna be fine. He's got us watching out for him now. We're not gonna let anything happen to him. And if worse comes to worst," Dean grinned, starting the car, "he can always team up with us. Who knows? He might make a good hunter."

Sam grinned reluctantly, finally looking at him. "Yeah, right. I can just see you handing him a pistol and sending him off to take out a werewolf."

Dean put the car in reverse. "Hey, if every seven-year-old knew how to put down werewolves, our lives would be a lot easier. And I would _not_ hand him a pistol and send him off to take out a werewolf." He looked over his shoulder as he backed the car up. "I'd hand him a machete and send him off to decapitate a vampire."

Sam cracked up laughing, and Dean joined in. Exhaustion and mild head injury made the joke ten times funnier than it actually was, and Dean had to stop the car to keep from hitting a tree.

Their splitting headaches cut the laughter short however, and they both ended up wincing and holding their heads.

"Okay," Dean breathed once the throbbing subsided a bit. "Motel. Advil. Food. Sleep. In that order."

Sam groaned in agreement. "Maybe sleep first. And you forgot 'research.'"

Dean started the car forward again. "After everything that just happened," he said, "everyone else on the planet would be happy to get the heck out of this town and never look back. But only you, Sam, would want to hit the library on the way out."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Forgetting the librarian, are we?"

Dean pretended to look thoughtful. "You know, now that you mention it, I am starting to see the appeal of stopping by before we leave…"

Their lighthearted joking eventually lapsed into a more one-sided conversation. Sam started going on about his theories on the Anderson house and the spirits they'd vanquished there. He guessed that the ghosts had been twisted by centuries spent on the wrong side of the veil and had latched onto the house, and then Logan and Aiden, to keep from fading out. The psychics' powers would have been strong enough to keep them tethered to the world of the living, and as an added bonus they could feed off of and encourage Logan's anger at the other children.

In all honesty, Dean was only half-listening to his brother's speculation, content just to listen to the sound of Sam's voice. He recalled Logan's words from back in the basement, right before they'd made their mad dash for safety: _Aiden's gonna hold back the shadows. He won't let them get me._

And listening to Sam chatter away next to him, his worries momentarily forgotten, Dean knew he'd do the same thing for him. Because that's what brothers were for.

* * *

 **It's over! It's finally over! I hope you enjoyed! This story was a whole lot of firsts for me -first fanfic, first story longer than a couple pages that I've actually finished, first story I've willingly shared with anyone outside of family—and I'd like to thank all you readers, extra-thank the followers, and virtual bear hug the people who reviewed and that one groovy person who favorited :)** **Thank you so much, guys!**

 **A few final notes before I get back to writing: if you have any questions about the story, feel free to ask in whatever form suits you—review, PM, message in a bottle, telepathy…I can't guarantee I'll get those last two, but I'll certainly be on the lookout :) What with my tendencies to procrastinate and never finish a story, this chapter was difficult to get done, and in my rush to finish it I may have left a few loose ends untied. If you notice anything, let me know and I'll do my best to answer your question or fix the story so that everything is explained.**

 **Also, if you have time let me know what you liked and didn't like about the story/my writing style/anything—what I should do again, or what I should absolutely never even come near again with a ten foot pole. All comments on anything and suggestions for anything are always welcome.**

 **Oh, and I almost forgot—for those of you who don't know, deus ex machina means god in the machine. Basically—an extremely convenient solution that pretty much comes out of nowhere, AKA, me giving a certain ghost boy sudden abilities to make wrapping up the story easier :)**


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